Heavy Rain
by Margo'sShed
Summary: An original storyline using characters from Casualty. Centered around Connie, her life, her past, her secrets...and her clandestine affair with Max Walker, scaffolder turned Porter
1. Chapter 1

**Heavy Rain**

The heat was blistering. Summer seemed to have arrived all at once and the air smelled of softening tar mac and the lingering sour scent of warm petrol.

Connie could feel the heat through the bottoms of her Manolo Blahnik's as she walked from her car to the hospital. She looked up, the sun hung overhead, lazy and throbbing. She shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting against the glare as the sun glanced off the metal scaffolding that was being erected against one wall of the hospital.

She made her way across the car park to the hospital entrance, the air conditioning greeted her as she stepped through the automatic doors, the soft whirr and blast of it above her made the hairs stand up at the nape of her neck.

Across from reception Charlie passed by, raising a patients notes in greeting to her, she gave a slight nod of the head, smiling softly and making her way down the corridor to her office.

Inside, the office was muggy and hot, she exhaled, carefully taking her jacket off and hanging it on the peg on the back of the door. She moved to the window, prizing the rarely used catch and pushing the window so that it opened to it's maximum, a bare three or four inches.

Cursing health and safety under her breath she fixed the lock in place, catching a glimpse of the scaffolding below as she did so. She could see the top of a workman's head protected with the yellow plastic hat. He was passing long metal poles to someone out of sight.

A tap at the door made her turn.

"Come."

She called, leaning against the open window, grateful for the slight breeze that rippled beneath the sheer white of her shirt.

Tess pushed open the door, smiling an apologetic smile as she entered the room, pushing the door closed behind her.

"Morning."

She greeted, raising a hand and fanning herself with it.

"Gosh it's hot in here."

She puffed, still fanning herself.

"Mmm."

Murmured Connie absently, placing a hand on the catch that only allowed the window to open so far, wondering if she could knock it free.

"Sorry, I've got these for you to sign."

Tess paused, glancing up at Connie as she set the files neatly on her desk.

"I know. And it's only five past nine."

She smiled, Connie glanced behind herself as the soft clatter and clunk of metal grew gradually louder.

"Do you know what it is they're doing down there?"

She asked, watching as a second man joined the first and they began rhythmically assembling the long grey pipes, bolting them together with practised ease.

"I think they're going to re-paint..."

Tess spoke as she moved over to stand next to Connie, looking down at the workmen. The noise grew louder as they climbed higher.

"I wondered where my budget had gone."

Connie exhaled, the hint of a knowing smile at her lips as she pushed herself away from the window.

"That'll be interesting when they reach my level..."

She mused, settling herself down in the seat at her desk and pulling the files towards her.

**Just the very beginning, to test the waters. Please let me know if you would like to read more. I will update again soon. x**


	2. Chapter 2

Connie spent the morning sorting through the files and stacks of paper work that had been piled on her desk by various members of staff over night. She signed papers, checked and re-checked, and all the while the clang and clatter from outside grew louder and louder as the scaffolders rose higher and higher up the side of the building.

At midday she made her way to the window again, looking down, the work men were now only about six foot below her, she could hear them speaking to one another but couldn't quite hear the words except for the odd shouted command or curse.

The office still felt unbearably stuffy despite having the window ajar. She looked again at the little piece of metal that held it in place, the screws were rusted in but perhaps she could bend it, just so that she could open the window and let in a little bit more air into this suffocating box of an office.

She moved to fish about in her top draw, there must be something...her fingers touched the cool metal of an envelope opener. She made her way back over to the window and pushed the blade of it in between the window and the frame, leaning her weight gently against it to try to bend it away from the window. It creaked beneath her weight slightly but refused to move. One last push and she could feel that the blade was going to snap. She removed it, eyeing the bend in the metal. Cursing it under her breath she tossed it back in to the drawer and began collecting the files.

"Do you need a hand?"

A voice from the window startled her. She turned to find one of the workmen, his chin just level with her window ledge.

"Excuse me?"

She asked, taking in his scuffed hard hat, the hint of dark hair underneath, blue eyes and skin speckled with glimmering beads of sweat. He rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead as she looked at him.

"With the window..."

He was slightly out of breath, and he had a bandage on his forearm that was speckled with mud and grey with dust.

"No...thank you."

Connie turned her back to him, flicking her fingers through the folders, sorting which ones needed to be taken where.

She could feel him watching her from the window, could feel the perspiration on her lower back, her shirt seemed to stick to her awkwardly pulling as she moved the files into various piles.

A dull thump followed by a sharp crack made her turn again, the workman eased open the window so that a breeze billowed in, he secured it in place with the metal lever and began to brush the dust away from where he had broken free the safety catch.

"Uh...what do you think you are doing?"

Connie asked, one perfectly manicured eyebrow arced, her hands placed evenly on her hips.

He glanced at her, seemingly un-phased.

"I thought you looked hot."

He said with a half shrug.

"Excuse me?"

Her words were clipped and venomous.

"As in over heating?"

He offered, leaning down to blow the last of the dust from the sill.

"Yes, I know what it means."

She drew in a breath through her teeth.

"But why did you do it?"

She asked, her hands firmly at her hips, her knuckles white.

"That's what you've been trying to do all morning wasn't it?"

He asked, a smile toyed with the corners of his mouth.

"IF I had wanted your help I would have asked for it."

She moved as she spoke, looking down at the snapped metal safety catch, there was a clean break and little mess, just a slight fracture in the plastic frame.

She glanced at him, he fished for something in his pocket before bringing out a cigarette and placing it between his lips.

"You haven't got a lighter I could borrow have you?"

He asked, seeming to already know the answer, his eyes glittered with mischief.

"If you think you're going to break my window and then blow smoke through it you're very much mistaken."

She snapped, eyebrows raised, hazel eyes wide.

He smiled, a long slow smile.

"Well, I'm not climbing all the way down..."

He stepped back from the window, pushing his hand into his other pocket and retrieving a clear pink lighter.

"If you light that, I will personally report you."

She warned, lowering her gaze, watching as he thumbed the plastic of the lighter.

"Have you made your decision?"

She asked, growing impatient.

He narrowed his eyes with amusement, seeming to look for her rather than at her.

"Too difficult a decision?"

She asked, his relaxed approach to the situation grating on her.

"No...no..."

He leant back against the scaffold rail, a movement that made Connie's stomach lurch uncontrollably.

He let his hand which held the cigarette fall to his side.

"So who are you, anyway?"

He asked, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head to look her up and down.

"Me?!"

She almost laughed, drawing in a breath as she paused.

"Too difficult a question?"

He asked, his words quick, his body moving with the ever so slight movement of the scaffolding in the breeze.

"Very funny."

She sighed.

"No, I'm..."

"No, come on let me guess..."

He sucked in a breath and let his hands fall from where they were folded, pushing his hands into his pockets and rocking gently back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Receptionist?"

He asked. Connie raised an eyebrow again.

"In an office? No...I'm the lead consultant here."

She let her hands regain their position on her hips as she spoke, he smiled again and jangled spare change in his pocket.

"Are you now...?"

He breathed, she began to move away from the window, bored of the conversation.

"I tell you what, what time do you finish? I could take you for a drink...as a kind of payback...for breaking your window."

He stifled a smile as he spoke, she drew in another sigh and glanced back at him over her shoulder.

"A drink. You and me?"

She barely concealed her amusement at such a suggestion.

"Yeah...why not?"

He asked, again he smiled that smile, a smile that she found herself drawn to despite herself.

"I'll take a rain check if that's ok with you..."

The sarcasm in her voice was tangible, she moved again towards the door to the office, taking a hold of the handle as he spoke again.

"Well, it's not really but seeings as you're one of the bosses I'd better not push it..."

He mused, she could see the cigarette still between his fingers as he raised his hand from his pocket to check the time on his watch.

"Don't."

She looked pointedly at the cigarette as she turned the door handle, opening the door to reveal the corridor beyond.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He whispered, watching her as she left the room.

**I'll be updating again tonight or tomorrow, I hope everyone who reads it enjoys it x reviews very welcome! (This is going to be an ongoing fiction for probably quite some time...enjoy x) xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

"OK, you take this patient, I'll take the sister."

Connie moved in along side the ambulance crew as they wheeled in one trolley after another, pushing them through the corridors and in through the double doors to RESUS.

"Right, what have we got?"

She asked, unravelling the stethoscope from around her neck and placing the ear pieces in, holding the cool metal to the patients chest as Jeff answered her.

"This is Florence Worth, she's twenty-two. She and her brother have admitted to taking illegal substances, that seem to have had an adverse effect on Florence. Her temperature's forty, BP seventy one thirty over ninety, pulse is one hundred resps thirty and SATS are ninety five percent."

Jeff spoke quickly before making his way over to the exit, leaving Connie and Cal in charge.

"Right..."

Connie moved to the other side of the bed to check the notes.

"Lets have bloods, LFT's, U's and E's, FBC's, glucose, paracetamol and urine analyses please."

She looked to Cal.

"Do we know what they've taken?"

She asked.

"It was just meant to keep us awake..."

The patients brother who loitered nervously by the double doors answered before Cal could speak.

"Well...it's not working very well for your sister."

Connie replied, replacing the notes and stepping back as Cal shone a torch into her eyes to check her reaction.

"It was just for the exams..."

Her brother spoke again, he twisted his hands together, his forehead slick with sweat.

"You're exams are so important you'd risk taking something you know nothing about?"

Connie asked, taking her stethoscope from around her neck again as Cal set the torch back down, clicking the light off as he moved away.

"I've just remembered...she's got the receipt..."

The brother reached down to retreive the bag from where it had been dropped at his feet, he reached inside, sorting through a mass of belongings until he found a screwed up receipt inside a small cardboard box.

"It's called...cyclanoid?"

He read it slowly, looking up to Connie.

"Cyclanoid?"

Cal repeated.

"I know someone who has taken that."

Connie raised an eyebrow as he spoke.

"You?"

She asked pointedly.

"No...never. But I can find out more about it for you? I could check the tox base?"

He asked, glancing down to where she began to write in the patients notes.

"Yes..please."

Connie uttered, scribbling at the top of the page to get the pen to start working again.

"Next time I suggest you work harder."

She mused, glancing briefly toward the brother who was busying himself with the rest of the contents of the bag.

"I'll follow you out."

She added, following Cal as he left the room, her heels clacking loudly on the hard floor of the corridor.

"Honestly, why do people take these things when they know absolutely nothing about them? Are there really that many stupid people about?"

She asked, keeping in step with Cal as she moved by his side.

"It would appear so..."

He said, turning to face her as they stopped at the lift entrance. She pressed the button hard with a manicured finger and folded her arms neatly across her chest.

"So..."

Cal looked toward where the lift had still yet to arrive.

"When do we get to find out why you're really here?"

He asked, looking back again to Connie who pursed her lips, amused.

"Isn't that a tad philosophical? Religions have been wondering the same thing for decades, what makes you think I have the answers?"

She asked, letting slip a smile, her eyes lowered.

"I thought you were all knowing..."

He hesitated, catching her gaze, her head tilted slightly, eyes toying with him as a cat toys with a mouse.

"No, really. Why are you here? In the ED?"

He asked, leaning against the wall, watching her for a response, a hint of some sort but she merely tossed her head slightly and ran a tongue across her upper lip.

"And why wouldn't I be?"

She asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.

"I thought you preferred the glamour of cardiothorasics? After all...didn't you once say in one of your lectures...'why have beer when Champagne is on offer?"

He asked, narrowing his eyes slightly, determined to see through the well positioned veil that she seemed to insist on hiding behind.

She shrugged non-commitedly.

"Glamour is a whore. I prefer money."

She breathed, sucking in a breath and looking again to where the lift could be heard slowing it's pace to greet them.

"Well..there's less of that down here too...surely?"

He asked, the doors hissed open and they stepped inside. Again Connie pressed the button, stepping back as they began to ascend.

"All these questions..."

She turned to look at him, her own reflection showing behind him in the mirrored wall of the lift.

"Why are you so interested in me?"

She asked.

He pushed his hands in his pockets, considering his answer before speaking.

"Merely taking an interest in the new boss..."

He said slowly, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

She smiled slowly.

"Is that all? I thought perhaps you were more interested in me, than what I'm doing here..."

The lift doors slid open as they reached their floor, she stepped out ahead of him.

"How disappointing."

She breathed, glancing back at him as he stood in front of the lift, seemingly disarmed, his mouth left partially open.

"How very disappointing..."


	4. Chapter 4

The afternoon was drawing to a close and the light was changing, thick clouds rolling in over head, threatening a storm.

Connie stepped through the double doors out onto the ward. She could hear Charlie's voice in the near distance, speaking on the phone. Robyn and Lofty were stacking paperwork and Rita was staring intently at the computer monitor.

Even here on the wards the rhythmic bashing of the scaffolders outside could be heard, a metallic heartbeat that seemed to merge with the general hospital clatter.

Tess approached her as she entered, raising a hand to hail her.

"There's a man in cubicle five that needs treating. Could you take over I'm not feeling too well..."

Tess frowned as she spoke, her head was throbbing and she felt the beginnings of a sick bug churning her stomach.

"Of course...are you ok?"

Connie asked, unbuttoning the cuffs of her shift and rolling the sleeves up to just above her elbows.

Tess nodded, her face pale.

"Just a bug."

She lowered her voice as she spoke, slipping past and out the way Connie had entered.

Connie threw back the curtain of cubicle five to reveal the patient, a dark haired man who smiled in an absurdly amused way as she entered.

"Mr..."

She dipped a hand to retrieve his notes from the end of the bed.

"Walker...Max, Walker."

He answered as she read the name from the top of the brown file.

"Sorry, that sounded a bit '_James Bond'._

He smiled again as he spoke, waiting for Connie to raise her eyes from the notes, watching her as she scanned the writing quickly.

"Right, Mr Walker, I'm Mrs Beauchamp..."

She placed the notes on the table next to the bed and moved around to stand in front of him.

"How did you get the lacerations to your arm?"

She asked, taking hold of his arm, there was the grey sticky mark from a recently removed plaster that had covered the deep weeping wound on his arm. She peered down at the split skin.

"I just caught it..."

He looked down at it, following her gaze, the sight of it making him feel slightly light headed.

"It hasn't healed and today I noticed it had begun to itch so I thought I'd better get it checked out."

He explained, looking away, noticing the height of her heels, the soft curve of her calf...

"Have you been keeping it clean?"

Connie asked, her words distracting him. She let his arm fall back to his side and reached for the notes again.

"As clean as I can, at work..."

He watched her as she jotted something down on a piece of paper.

"Right, well, I think you need to try just a little bit harder. If you don't keep the area thoroughly cleaned you risk the infection spreading..."

She paused, there was a clatter of something falling outside followed by raucous laughter.

"Sorry, excuse me..."

She moved over to the curtain, pulling It aside with more force than was necessary.

Security were busy man-handling a group of obviously drunk youths from the ward, their faces partially hidden by baseball caps, a trolley full of medication lay on it's side, Rita and Robyn were on their knees quickly piling everything back onto it.

Connie sucked in a breath as Charlie passed by.

"Nice young lads..."

He muttered as he passed.

"Mmm. I could quite happily kill everybody with a baseball cap..."

She replied, her voice low, her eyes following security as they forced the boys out through the door.

"With one baseball cap?"

Max asked from behind her, he smiled again. She turned, he was leant back on the bed, his body taking up the full length of it, his legs crossed at the ankles, good arm bent behind his head to prop himself up.

"Sorry about that..."

Just as she spoke there was another whoop of laughter, this time from the cubicle next door, a female voice spoke in a wild, drunken laugh, and a further two or three voices joined in. Connie rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, I'll have them moved..."

She made to open the curtain again but Max pushed himself to a sitting position.

"Wait, wait, wait..., you could do that. But why? Look at these people, these human beings, they're just having fun. Consider their potential!From the day they arrive on the planet, blinking, step into the sun, there is more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than...no, hold on. Sorry, that's_The Lion King_. But the point still stands. Leave them alone, I don't mind!"

He watched as she hesitated, her lips partially open.

"I'm sorry? Are you drunk too or just an appalling poet?"

She exhaled a sigh as she spoke, losing the will to continue.

"No...just a scaffolder."

He answered, watching as she paused in her movements back towards him. She tilted her head, looking at him. Realising all at once who he was.

"You didn't recognise me without the hat..."

He touched his head as he spoke, smiling again...that smile, she could place it now.

"No..."

She took a moment to gather herself, feeling oddly taken aback that this man was the same man who had broken her window for her earlier that morning...she hadn't noticed. Attention to detail and noticing what others missed had always been something she had prided herself in.

"So...?"

His voice seemed to bring her mind back to the room.

"Hmm? Sorry...yes, right. I'll clean that up for you..."

She made her way to the stand next to the bed where someone had already placed the necessary antibacterial cleaning resources ready for her. She pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and dipped a piece of cotton wool into the cleaning solution.

"Once I've done this I'll bandage it up properly and write you out a prescription for some antibiotics."

She placed the cotton wool onto his arm, expecting him to flinch at the sting but he remained still beneath her touch,

"You'll need to keep it clean...properly clean I mean."

She added, glancing up at him. He was watching her face with interest, a slight smile teasing the corner of his mouth. His face was cleaner than she remembered it being earlier, free of the dry dust, now only a few spatters of paint speckled his face.

"Well, I know where to find you if it comes unstuck..."

He said quietly, watching as she glanced to where her fingers pressed the cool wet cotton wool to his flesh.

"I think you'll find I'm a bit over-qualified for that..."

She begun, but as she spoke there came a long low guttural creaking noise from somewhere outside.

Both Connie and Max looked up, the noise came again followed by the ear splitting scream of metal against metal.

Connie rose, pulling away the curtain, the ward beyond seemed to have come to a stand still, everybody paused, listening, looking from person to person, silently wondering.

The noise came again, a chuddering squeal of metal, and the clang of something falling to the concrete.

The doors to the ward were pushed open, a security guard that Connie didn't recognise gripped the door frame to steady himself.

"It's the scaffolding...It's falling..."

He wheezed.

**More tomorrow night. I hope it's being enjoyed? :) xxx**


	5. Chapter 5

A crowd had gathered at the base of the scaffolding. As Connie arrived there must have been twenty or thirty people already there. Charlie was shielding his eyes against the lowering sun, and Zoe stood at the base of the scaffolding, her hand against one of the long poles supporting it.

"What happened?"

Connie called, she felt a presence behind her and glanced back, Max had followed her.

"Someone's taken the bolts out..."

Zoe called to her, turning and locating Connie in the crowd.

"And given this one a bash..."

She gestured to one of the main supporting poles which was contorted and bent so that it only just touched the ground, a gap appearing every now and then where it should have been attached to the pole above.

"Probably those kids."

Connie heard Charlie mutter.

The scaffolding creaked violently, somewhere up above there was the ear splitting crack of something and all of a sudden there was the scutter and slip of flesh on wood and a body, far up above them skidded toward the edge of the scaffold, a quick shout and he slipped off the end, his body caught between the poles. He hung vertically, head lolled forward, limp and unmoving.

"Dan!"

Max shouted his name from below, he stepped backwards, shielding his eyes as Charlie did to look up against the turning sky, clouds billowed over head and the first fat rain drops were beginning to fall.

"Has someone called the fire brigade?!"

Zoe was lost in the crowd but her voice could be heard. Charlie replied, someone had gone inside to ring them.

Connie stepped back, squinting to see from such a distance what was holding the man who dangled so precariously above them.

The crowd murmured around her, hands were touched against open mouths, eyes lifted, flinching from the raindrops. The faster they fell, the quicker the crowd began to disperse.

"He's not moving..."

Connie spoke aloud as Zoe emerged from the swarm of onlookers.

"I didn't see him knock his head..."

Zoe spoke, her voice strained as she craned her neck to look up at the shoes that hung so far above them.

"He should be moving, someone needs to go up there."

Connie stepped back, bumping against Max who was still standing, staring up at his friend.

"Connie, this is a job for the fire brigade. We can't send anyone up there, look at it!"

Zoe gestured to the swaying, groaning metal that juddered with the on coming storm.

Connie followed her gaze, up the lengths of metal and long planks of wood, her eyes stopping just above where the man hung.

She placed a hand on Max's arm, just missing his bandage.

"I need you to come with me."

She spoke so quietly that he barely heard, her eyes were lowered, her grip firm. He followed as she moved toward the entrance. Zoe's voice calling them, catching in the wind.

Max followed her along the wide hospital corridors to the lift. She pressed the button twice, flexing her fingers at her sides as she waited, her cheeks flushed, remaining silent.

Once the lift had arrived she gestured for Max to enter first, following him and pressing the button to allow them to ascend.

"Why wasn't he moving..?"

Max asked as they arrived, the lift doors opening with a satisfied hiss.

"That's what I intend to find out."

Connie answered, slightly breathless.

They moved out into the corridor turning left and into Connie's office.

"Open that window as far as you can."

She gestured to the window that he had set free earlier, moving to her desk and looping her stethoscope around her neck as Max pushed open the window as far as it would go.

He looked down, about six foot below he could see Dan's head, his helmet had begun to slip forward so that the bare skin of his bald head could just about be seen above the nape of his neck.

He felt Connie at his side, she leaned out of the window as far as she could, the rain hitting the open pane of glass with such force now that the noise of it blocked out the sound from below.

She glanced down below, the scaffolding was swaying slightly more now, she could see the people below, could see the green of Zoe's dress, her mouth moving but no sound carried up to her.

"Is he ok?"

Max shouted against the noise of the rain. Connie looked down for a moment longer before stepping back into the room and slipping off her shoes so that she stood barefoot on the carpet.

"Can you give me a leg up?"

She asked, placing her hands on the window ledge. She glanced back as Max seemed to hesitate.

"We haven't got time for the fire brigade to get here."

She spoke so sharply that the sound of her voice alone was enough to push him towards her, he knelt down, allowing her to use his knees as a step up, he watched her wobble slightly as she knelt onto the window frame, her hand squeaking against the wet plastic, a ring catching against it with a dull clink.

He raised a hand, preparing himself to steady her but she regained her balance quickly, slipping her legs out from underneath her so that they hung out of the window, her tights beginning to fleck with the dark spattering of the rain.

"What're you doing?"

Max asked, his breath making his throat dry, his voice forced and nervous.

Connie shook her head slightly, steadying her breath, readying herself.

Without warning she let herself fall from the window ledge, the crowd below stepped back in unison as if electrocuted. She heard Max shout from the office as she fell. Her feet hitting the scaffolding boards, slipping slightly on the wet wood.

She crouched down, the rain slithering across her forehead, the wind whipping and slapping her hair into her eyes, across her cheeks.

She crawled slowly towards the edge of the scaffold boards, laying flat she she reached Dan. The structure shifted and squealed under her stomach, she could feel the wind against her, the rain ricocheting from her back and socking into her clothes.

Shuffling closer she used a hand to lift off the man's helmet, placing it behind herself against the brick of the hospital wall.

His face was flat and swollen against the wood panels, one eye prized open, only the white showing.

"Dan?"

She shouted into the storm.

"Can you hear me? My name is Connie, I'm a doctor."

She waited only seconds for the reply that never came. She reached out again, forcing her fingers into the collar of his jacket that was bunched about his neck, searching for his pulse point. She found nothing, moving her fingers she tried again before turning her head to face the wall of the hospital.

"Max?"

She called, she could see him lean further out of the window as she called.

"I need oxygen, can you get me oxygen?"

She shouted, annunciating each word with careful precision.

"Where...?"

He called back, leaning all the further out so that the rain caught the top of his head.

"Just...ask."

She panted as she spoke, the cold and the adrenaline causing her to start shaking.

As he disappeared a low rumble began in the distance, building in strength until the rumble became the roar of thunder, followed closely by the deafening crack of lightening, the bolt spearing the earth with dagger like force, lighting up the dimming sky.

The scaffolding heaved again and a second rumble began, merging with the groaning of the metal and the shifting of the wood planks. She felt herself begin to move involuntarily, the boards seeming to begin to slip away from underneath her, catching her clothes and scratching the palms of her hands.

The boards came to a halt with a judder. She clung on to them, eyes closed, her breath sounding loudly, her ear drums thumping the rhythm of her heart inside her head.

"Connie?"

She heard Max shout her name. Opening one eye she could see him, blinking against the rain she could just make out a small oxygen tank, the mask attached dangled from the window sill, fluttering and billowing, hitting the glass of the window.

"Hold on."

She called, unable to move, just needing to catch her breath.

She saw the reaction of the crowd before she felt the jolt and judder of the boards underneath her again, the wood bouncing back against her jaw making her bite her tongue hard.

"Connie?"

His voice was nearer. She glanced back as best she could. Max was crouched at the opposite end of the boards, oxygen mask zipped inside his jacket.

He reached out a hand and grasped hold of her calf, pushing it down so that she could gain the leverage she needed to be able to push herself up, just enough to be able to push her hands underneath herself, shifting her body awkwardly into a sitting position, she pressed her back against the wall, reaching out a hand to him as he tentatively made his way over to her, sitting slowly next to her. She noticed his hand shook as he passed her the oxygen tank.

"You're bleeding."

He touched his own mouth to indicate where from.

"Bit my lip..."

She whispered, catching her breath as she fixed the mask back onto the oxygen tank and swivelled her legs around again.

"Hold onto me."

She instructed, waiting until he had a firm grip around her knees to lay down again, using her free hand to force Dan's head so that she could place the mask clumsily over his face.

"What's wrong with him?"

Max asked, his hands tight about her.

"Just going to give him some oxygen..."

She paused to wipe her face against her upper arm, the rain causing her mascara to run into her eyes making them sting violently.

"to help him breath a little bit better."

She turned allowed the gas to flow into the mask.

"Given his position I think it's something called suspension syndrome."

She coughed as she spoke, trying to keep the mask steady over Dan's slowly bluing lips.

As she spoke they saw the circular flashing of blue lights, somewhere below the fire brigade had arrived.

They heard the grating noise of ladders being placed and secured below, the planks they rested upon slipping again, only slighly this time but the movement made Max's grip slip his fingers tearing holes in her tights, marking the skin of her calves with his finger nails.

"Fuck..."

She heard him shout, could feel his fingers begin to tremble all the more as he held her. Because of the movement of the wood she could now see directly down beneath her, her chest resting against the edge of the boards. Through the blinking grey of the rain she could make out the ladders growing higher, the odd glimpse of a hat, a light, and finally the figures of firemen, their reflective jackets catching in the second bolt of pure white lightening.

One spoke to her, his gloved hand reached out for her but she gestured to Dan.

The thunder crashed above them, splitting the clouds and sending down an even heavier lashing of rain.

The firemen began to lift Dan free from the metal, hauling his limp body away from her. She blinked again against the weather, waving a hand to gain the attention of one of the firemen who paused in his movements.

"Make sure you keep him upright."

She shouted, wheezing as she spoke. She caught the nod of the fireman behind his visor as he disappeared.

She pushed herself back, sitting up, reaching out to Max and motioning back toward the window.

"Do you think we can?"

She asked, realising it would take the firemen several minutes to get Dan safely to the ground before they could come back up for herself and Max.

Max glanced to the other end of the boards, they'd slipped a good foot from where they were supposed to be, but it was possible.

Without speaking he motioned for her to follow him, the thunder sounding again rendering speech impossible. They reached the far end, crouching and shaking Max steadied Connie as she put a foot onto the bottom rung of the scaffolding, her foot slipped sideways, her tights preventing any grip. Licked her lips, despite the rain they felt dry and she struggled to breath in as much as was necessary.

She stepped back onto the boards.

"What're you doing?"

She heard Max ask.

She held fast onto him reaching underneath her skirt and pulling forcefully at the waist band of her tights, pulling them down and off over her feet, stepping out of them tentatively, tossing them to where they caught on the splintering wood.

She tried again, this time the bare skin of her foot was enough to enable her to push herself up, grasping each rung and turning herself, to grab onto the open window ledge, ducking her head to shelter from the rain before allowing herself to move sideways, her legs pushed firmly against cold metal as she twisted, using all of the strength her arms had to pull herself free of the metal and onto the window ledge, watching as Max followed, only allowing herself to slip back down into the office once he was safely pulling himself onto the ledge.

She sat on the floor, not having the energy to move to the chair, the desk...

Max pulled shut the window with a bang before folding himself onto the floor opposite her.

With the weather trapped outside the room was oddly still, the silence coming as a shock. Only the steady panting and gasps for breath of each other.

Max swallowed, wiping the water from his face, looking at her. Her eyes rimmed with mascara, her hair flat limp, her clothes clung to her, her shirt transparent against her skin.

"You."

He looked pointedly at her, sucking in a breath and exhaling slowly.

"Are insane."

He puffed, wiping the dribbles of rain that ran from his hair across his forehead.

She shook her head as she steadied her breathing.

"Not insane."

She breathed.

"Just a bit unlikely."

**I hope you all enjoyed that? I apologise for being so rubbish at updating. I've got a very strong-willed 3 year old who is going through phase of refusing to go to bed, so if I ever don't update,that's why! I will always catch up though xxx**


	6. Chapter 6

Connie let her head fall back against the leg of her desk, closing her eyes. She heard Max exhale, still slightly breathless.

"Coffee?"

She asked, opening her eyes and looking at him, his face was pale and his clothes still wet form the rain. She imaged she must look similar, if not worse. The mascara still stung her eyes.

He murmured a yes, running a hand through his hair so that it stood up on end.

On her way to the kettle she had sitting in the corner of the office near the door she pushed a hand into her bag which sat, gaping open on her desk. She retrieved a packet of face wipes, pulling one from her bag and running it over her face, pusing her hair back from her forehead, wiping the mascara from her eyes, the foundation from her face, the lipstick from her lips...

Turning, she screwed up the wipe and tossed it at the bin beneath the window. She glanced at Max before making her way over to the kettle. He was smiling at her as though he had just been told a secret.

"What?"

She asked, exhaling, setting the kettle to boil and turning, leaning back against the small side board, arms firmly folded acrosss her chest.

He shook his head slightly, the spikes of his hair were slowly drying back into place, falling slowly back to his scalp as he moved.

"You've got freckles."

He said, still smiling. She raised an eyebrow.

"Mmm."

She murmured as the kettle began to bubble and steam. The switch flicked off and she reached for two mugs, spooning ground coffee into the cafetiere and filling it with boiling water, waiting a moment before pouring it into the mugs.

"How do you have yours?"

She asked, not looking up.

"Just milk..."

She rested a hand on the pint of milk she had settled behind the kettle.

"No sugar?"

She asked, somewhat surprised. He shook his head.

She poured the milk and stirred slowly before moving back over to him, placing his coffee down next to him and drawing out her chair, placing her own mug on the desk and relaxing back into the chair while Max pushed himself to his feet, groaning slightly as he did and taking his coffee over to the small sofa next to her desk, sitting back into it, the leather creaking against his weight.

"You're beautiful without make up."

Max's voice broke the silence. Again Connie raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips and blowing cool air across the surface of the coffee she held between her hands.

"How can you be so calm after what just happened?"

He spoke again when she didn't reply. She rested the mug against her knee, swallowing the sip of coffee she had just taken.

"All in a days work."

She smiled as she spoke, a deceptive smile that caught at the corners of her lips, toying with them, her eyes glittering as she dipped her head.

"You were pretty incredible..."

He said, that wide, even grin re-appearing over the rim of his mug.

"I know."

She whispered as she raised her own mug to her lips again. Catching the amused look that passed across his face.

"Modest too..."

He winked through the steam that rose from the hot coffee, pressing his fingers tighter around the mug, warming them.

"You did well too."

As she spoke he took in another sip, swallowing before replying.

"Mmm. It helped that I could see up your skirt."

He said, again that smile...

She laughed involuntarily, taking even herself by surprise, coughing slightly as the coffee caught in her throat.

"That's better."

He winked again.

"What's better?"

She asked, rearranging her face, placing a hand against her chest to ease her cough.

"That laugh. That was real. None of this consultant bravado crap..."

He paused, tilting his head to look at her.

"You're so much more beautiful when you laugh."

He said.

**More tomorrow! :) Hopefully people are still reading/enjoying? Reviews very welcome !xxx **


	7. Chapter 7

"Connie?"

Tess opened the door to the office without knocking. Both Ash and Charlie stood behind her, peering in. Three pairs of eyes looking from Connie to Max.

"We just came to see if you were ok?"

Charlie spoke, Tess remaining silent as she looked again at Max, his body slouched back into the soft leather of the sofa, empty coffee cup in hand, Connie, bare faced, her eyes tired, a sleepy melancholic air about the room.

"We're fine. Thank you."

Connie traced the arm of her chair with her index finger before placing her mug on the desk at her side. She had swivelled in her chair, facing Max.

"How is the patient?"

She asked, looking up to Tess who still looked to Max with unabashed disapproval.

"Fine. He's fine. He's on the ward..."

Tess answered stiffly.

"You could go and see him?"

Charlie added, looking to Max who had begun to rearrange himself on the sofa, sitting forward now.

"He's going to be OK?"

Max asked, his voice was quieter, softer than It had been moments before when he and Connie had spoken to one another.

"He'll be absolutely fine."

Charlie answered, seeing the relief ease the frown across Max's forehead as he stood, the sofa puckering behind his legs as he moved away from it, placing his mug next to Connie's, all eyes seeming to watch, looking at the two mugs, handles touching.

"I'll join you."

Connie spoke to Max, standing up herself and taking hold of the empty mugs, moving over to place them next to the kettle.

She stopped short of the door.

"Thank you."

She looked pointedly at the trio in her doorway. Tess glanced again at Max as Charlie pursed his lips into a stilted smile, Ash nodding briefly as they backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind them.

"Not very friendly...your lot."

Max spoke as the door clicked shut and Connie moved back over to her desk, opening a drawer and taking out a black wash-bag.

"Mmm."

She murmured non-committally, taking a compact mirror from the bag and holding it up to her face, patting on a thin layer of foundation onto her face, running a brush across her cheek bones.

"So..."

He spoke again, pushing his hands into his pockets as she lined her eyes with black kohl and ran a mascara brush through her eyelashes.

She clipped the compact shut and closed the bag away back into the drawer, standing once again and smoothing down her skirt before facing him.

"I take back what I said before."

His voice was soft again, a smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he tilted his head. Her hair had begun to dry. The rain had made it curl and it fell softly in large glossy spirals against her collar bone.

She raised an eyebrow, questioning.

"What did you say before?"

She asked, reaching for the stethoscope she had on the desk and placing it around her shoulders with practised ease.

"That you looked more beautiful without make up..."

He paused, smiling.

"You look just as beautiful with."

His smile widened. She regarded him for a moment, eyes narrowed, the tell-tale glint of amusement in the purse of her lips.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr Walker."

She said eventually, turning sharply on her heel and moving to hold the door open for him. She gestured for him to go first.

"Shall we?"

She asked.

**More later tonight :) Reviews very much welcomed and enjoyed! xxx**


	8. Chapter 8

Connie and Max entered the ward. The air conditioning had been turned up and the chill that blew down from above them as they passed through the double doors fluttered the curls of Connie's hair so that she had to smooth them down, away from her face.

"Robyn!"

Max called out to the nurse who was standing at the nurses station flicking through a patients file, the end of a blue Biro between her teeth. She looked up as Max hailed her.

"God. You're bloody lucky you weren't killed up there!"

She exhaled and removed the pen from her mouth, placing it down onto the desk with a clatter and looking up at him. He smiled slowly.

"Nine lives me..."

He drawled, glancing around the array of closed cubicles.

"So where Is he?"

He asked, aware of Connie's eyes at his back.

Robyn paused, glancing up at the board behind her.

"Cubicle...six!"

She announced, picking up the pen again and using it to gesture to the cubicle in the far corner.

Max raised a hand in a half wave.

"Catch you later..."

He murmured, leading the way over to the cubicle.

They paused outside, Max placing a hand on the edge of the curtain, looking to Connie who looked pointedly to the curtain.

"My sister..."

He nodded in the general direction of Robyn.

"Step-sister...in case you were wondering."

He added, watching Connie's expression remain unchanged. She merely shifted her weight from one foot to the other to convey her impatience at waiting for him to draw back the curtain.

"I wasn't."

She spoke quietly, but firmly. He raised an eyebrow, amusement fleeting at his lips.

He opened the curtain, drawing it back with a soft clatter as the plastic hoops ran along the metal runner that they hung from.

"Mr Davis..."

Connie looked at the man in the bed. He was barely recognisable as the man she had rescued. He was sitting up reading the Daily Mail, heart monitors attached beneath his gown.

He looked up as they entered, smiling at Max, rolling his eyes as he gestured to himself.

"It would be me..."

He laughed as he spoke, which in turn changed into a hoarse cough.

"Mr Davis, I'm Connie Beauchamp..."

"Ah!"

He cut her off, looking at her, his eyes sparkling with recognition.

"You're Wonder Woman!"

He announced, folding down his paper and holding out a hand for her to shake.

"I'm sorry?"

She asked, glancing at his hand, unmoving.

"Wonder Woman...the one who saved me?"

He let his hand fall back onto the bed where his fingers toyed with the edge of the paper.

"Mmm."

She glanced toward the screen of the heart monitor.

"How are you feeling?"

She asked, squinting slightly to watch the green line that showed on the monitor.

"I've felt better..."

He looked to Max as if she had asked a ridiculous question.

Before Connie could ask any further questions, the curtain was drawn back again and a woman entered. She was roughly the same age as Connie herself, her dark hair was greying and streaked with pink and she wore a patchwork coat with frayed sleeves.

She held out a coffee to Dan who reached out for it stiffly, exhaling with relief once he had grabbed it and relaxed back into the bed.

"Sorry, I'm Marylin, Dan's wife."

She clutched her own take away coffee against her chest, her face was unusually chiselled and her eyes were thickly rimmed with turquoise eyeliner.

"Marylin, I'm Mrs Beauchamp one of the consultants..."

"The one who rescued me up there!"

Again Dan cut her off. Max smiled slightly, catching the sharp, irritated breath that Connie inhaled.

"Yes. Well. We just need to keep an eye on you over night. We will know more about your condition by the morning."

She moved a hand to Dan's notes, sliding them from the holder at the end of the bed and flicking through them as Dan slurped his coffee.

"Can't he come home tonight? I'll miss him..."

Marylin arranged herself on the edge of the bed, squeezing Dan's hand and raising the coffee to her lips.

"Not tonight I'm afraid."

Connie murmured, flicking several pages back with her thumb and forefinger.

"I can look after him at home..."

Marylin tried again.

"I work in a natural healing clinic, I know what I'm doing."

She was slightly firmer this time, her smile seemed to be ebbing away, her eyes focused firmly on Connie who looked up as she spoke. Max watched as her lips twitched ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing.

"With all due respect, Mrs Davis, your husband needs to be here, so that we can monitor his heart rate and administer the correct medication as and when he needs it."

Connie spoke plainly, her words had the clipped edge that Max was growing to recognise as irritation. She flipped the notes closed and held them against her chest.

"I'm sure you understand..."

She looked from Dan to Marylin, her smile so slow and laden with easy, practised charm that Dan found himself staring.

"And I'm sure you understand, Mrs Beauchamp that I am fully qualified, I know how to take care of him. All of him. Mind body and soul..."

As Marylin spoke Max noticed how the muscles in Connie's jaw seemed to clench, as if literally biting her tongue.

"Well let me assure you that we will do everything we possibly can to ensure that your husband is fit and well for you to have back at home with you tomorrow. Perhaps you can try some of your...soul healing on him then."

Connie audibly sighed as she spoke.

Marylin laughed humourlessly, waving an arm, rolling her eyes as if Connie and the world just didn't understand.

"You can think what you like. But the human body is a mystery! Science fails when it tries to explain the the nature of the soul..."

Marylin spoke with the arrogance of someone who knew everything about nothing. Connie exhaled through her nose, running her fingers across the spine of the patients notes.

"I'm not sure you understand, Mrs Davis...your husband needs to be treated in this hospital, with the medicines that we can provide..."

Marylin rolled her eyes again as Connie spoke, clearly not listening.

"Medicine? You mean drugs! Pharmaceutical companies are the enemy. They promote drug dependency at the cost of the natural remedies...did you know that?"

She gave no room for a reply.

"All our bodies really need is natural remedies. Why take drugs, when herbs can solve it? Why use chemicals when homoeopathic remedies can cure it? If you ask me it's time we all returned to live with natural alternatives."

She took a sip of her coffee, slurping loudly against the plastic.

Connie let a smile slip across her lips, and for a moment Max wondered if she might laugh.

Instead she cleared her throat, still the smile fluttering at her lips, her eyes lowered for a second while she composed herself.

"By definition..."

She began.

"'Alternative Medicine', or 'homoeopathic remedies' as you like to call it, has either not been proved to work, or been proved not to work..."

She paused, seeing the confusion briefly replace the arrogance on Marylin's face. 

"Do you you know what they call alternative medicine that's been proved to work? Hmm?"

She glanced briefly at Dan, who still remained transfixed by her, then to Marylin again who sat awaiting the answer.

"Medicine."

She said flatly.

"The sort we use here every. Single. Day."

She drew in a long breath before exhaling. Marylin remained uncharacteristically silent.

"So..." When Marylin eventually spoke her voice was marginally less aggressive. "You don't believe in _any _natural remedies?" She scoffed, looking to Dan, nudging him to encourage him to support her.

"On the contrary actually Mrs Davis!"

Connie smiled again, that slow easy smile of hers.

"Before I arrived at work today I myself took a natural remedy derived from the bark of a willow tree. A painkiller in fact, that's virtually side-effect free..."

While she spoke she watched Marylin's face with the intensity of a cat stalking it's prey. 

"It's got a funny name, Oh what was it again? Masprin? Basprin? Ah...Asprin! Which I paid about £1.99 for at Boots."

She let her words fade, still watching, unblinking as Marylin's façade began to falter.

The debate briefly paused as Robyn entered to check the monitor,

"Shakespeare said it first I think you'll find. He said that there are more things in heaven and earth than exist in your philosophy. Science is just how we're trained to look at reality, it can't explain spirituality or love, or the healing powers we hold within ourselves. I myself am a reiki practitioner. Explain to me how that works? How does science explain psychics? Auras; the afterlife; the power of prayer..."

Marylin folded her arms across her chest tightly, her cup wobbling in one hand, Dan showing the first signs of embarrassment as his face began to flush, looking away from his wife and widening his eyes at Max in a mute signal for help. Max meanwhile merely shrugged and grinned...

"Marylin...Marylin..."

Connie raised a hand to her forehead, pursing her lips against the smile she had been trying to hide.

"I am fully aware that you won't listen and that, clearly nothing that I can say will change your mind..."

She paused, tilting her head.

"But there's no such thing as an aura! Reading Auras is like reading minds, or star-signs or tea-leaves or meridian lines. These people aren't plying a skill, they are either lying or mentally ill. And the same goes for those who claim to speak to God, and Spiritual healers who think they have magic hands..."

Marylin laughed out loud at her words and Connie raised both hands in mock surrender, laughing herself.

"I can see that you just don't understand...!"

Marylin laughed again, this time it was strained, somewhat faked as she realised she was the only one laughing.

"No I don't. We are not children, Marylin. Do we actually think that Horton Heard a Who? Do we still think that Father Christmas brings us presents?...That Michael Jackson hasn't had face-lifts?"

Again Marylin laughed at her.

"You've obviously never come to see me as a psychic..."

"No! No I haven't!"

A crack began to appear in Connie's veneer.

"And why do you think that's ok? Hmm? To pretend that you can talk to the dead? That's just fundamentally wrong..."

Connie's voice began to grow in pitch, she felt Max's hand against her arm but she shook it off in one movement whilst Marylin to her credit, despite her speech, kept firing off clichés with startling precision.

"You're so sure of your position, but you're just closed-minded. I think you'll find your faith in Science is just as blind as any fundamentalist..." 

Marylin was yawning now, feigning boredom at the conversation as Connie began to visibly shake with annoyance.

"Oh don't be such a..."

She bit her tongue.

"Science adjusts it's beliefs based on what's observed.""

She began again, composing herself.

"Faith is the denial of observation so that Belief can be preserved."

She raised a finger, pointing it directly at Marylin who looked slightly taken a back.

"If you show me that, say, homoeopathy works, then I will change my mind. Every mystery the world has ever thrown at us..EVERY mystery ever solved has turned out to be not magic."

She paused, drawing a breath, calming her voice to a more pitying tone.

"Does the idea that there might be truth in science frighten you? Does the notion that there may not be a supernatural scare you that much? Isn't this enough? Just this world? Just this beautiful, complex wonderfully unfathomable, NATURAL world? If you, Marylin are so into Shakespeare, then lend me your ear, how does it so fail to hold our attention so that we have to diminish it with the invention of cheap man-made myths and monsters? To throw perfume on the violet is just...silly. To say that medicine that has been proved to work just doesn't exist is ridiculous. I am here every day. I save people's lives with this medicine. And I intend to save your husbands life in exactly the same way. If that is not ok with you, and if your husband would rather go home with you right now to have you look after him instead of me and my team of highly qualified doctors then that if fine. You can leave."

She struggled to catch her breath as she finished speaking. Marylin's face was a hot ruddy flush. She looked to Dan who looked down at the bed clothes.

"Have you made your decision?"

Connie asked, placing her hands neatly on her hips, watching as Marylin's mind raced for something, anything to say. And when she found nothing she merely let her body relax back into the bed in defeat.

"Thank you."

Connie breathed, turning her back on them and exiting through the curtain, pushing it out of the way with such force that it caught the curtain of the next cubicle.

She made her way back onto the ward, Max following her, passing several stunned nursing staff, and pulling a face at Robyn as he passed by.

They exited the ward, Connie stopping abruptly at the lift entrance, pressing the button with a perfectly manicured fingertip.

She glanced sideways at Max who halted next to her.

"Are you lost?"

She asked, looking up to where the numbers were displayed above the lift doors.

"Hmm?"

He asked, following her gaze.

"Why are you still following me?"

She asked, glancing at him again as the lift doors opened to greet them.

"Uh..."

The realisation that he had no idea why he was still following her dawned on him. He smiled and shrugged slightly.

She stepped into the lift, turning to face him, one arm folded across her waist. She paused, watching him waver on the edge of the lift, the doors unable to close with him there.

"You're dithering."

She mused, eyeing him.

As the lift doors tried to close once more he set foot inside the lift, the doors closing as if relieved, shutting behind him tightly. The silence inside the tiny box making his ears pop as they ascended.

"Sorry..."

He apologised, smiling again, that beautiful even grin that seemed to make him so appealing.

She shook her head slightly. Just looking at him. He felt himself become slightly uncomfortable in her gaze.

"I can go...I'll go shall I? When the lift stops?"

He gestured to the doors as he spoke, his smile fading. She shook her head again.

"No."

She spoke so quietly he was almost unsure of what she had said.

"I don't want you to go."

**Hope everyone enjoys the long update! More tomorrow xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

The storm was coming back, upon entering the office they found themselves plunged into a murky yellow darkness – the kind that only appears during a storm.

Connie flicked on the light, the window was still open and outside the fire brigade were still working to secure the scaffolding.

"I'll shut that window for you..."

Max followed her gaze. The wind wailed past the glass sending a low howling moan about the small room, punctuated and interrupted only by the sharp clinking noise of metal from the scaffolding outside.

He moved over to the window, glancing out only briefly before pulling the window closed, the wind almost pulling it from his grasp.

"I seem to have spent most of the day with you without meaning to, Mr Walker."

He glanced back as Connie spoke, turning to face her, his back against the window.

"Sorry..."

He smiled slightly, perhaps nervously, habit bringing a hand up to rub the side of his head.

Connie smiled, her lips pursed, dipping her head as if to try to conceal it.

"No need to be sorry."

She raised her eyes to look at him.

"I've rather enjoyed it."

She added, her voice quieter this time. She remained still, watching him, enjoying the flush of his cheeks, the awkwardness of his stance.

"Well. I think I'm just about finished here..."

She smiled again, his silence amusing her. She bent to retrieve the bag from under her desk and began unzipping it.

"Ah...Ok."

She glanced up as he spoke, he held his hands awkwardly in front of himself, biting gently on his bottom lip as he worked out what to say next.

"Well...would you..."

He paused again, a faint nervous twitch at the corner of his lips.

"I wondered if you'd like to..."

He looked up at her, her eyes glittered with amusement.

"You're probably busy..."

He exhaled, his body deflating somewhat as he gave up on what he had been trying to say.

"Are you planning on finishing any of those sentences?"

She asked, again her voice surprisingly soft, gentle, teasing...

He raised an eyebrow slightly.

"I don't want to make an arse of myself..."

He said eventually, folding his arms across his chest.

She sucked in a breath, her fingers poised on the zip of her bag.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that...?"

She fingered the metal tip of the zipper as she spoke.

He laughed softly, shaking his head slightly and raising a hand to push his fist briefly against his lips.

"I just wondered...if you would like to join me for a drink...I think we deserve one, after today?"

He dipped his head, narrowing his eyes at her as he smile widened.

"I noticed the bar...just opposite?"

He added.

She took the diary from her desk and placed it into her bag without uttering a word.

"I don't think the bar is a very good idea."

She said eventually.

Once again his body seemed to deflate, he rolled his eyes, amused at making a fool of himself in front of her.

"But I have a bottle here?"

She spoke slowly, moving gracefully over to the cupboard underneath where the kettle was. She opened the door and retrieved a bottle of something expensive.

He smiled, a slow even smile that in turn made her smile.

"What don't you have in here?"

He asked, glancing about the room as she placed the bottle on the desk and began fishing about in her drawer for a cork screw.

"I find it's best to be prepared..."

She handed him the corkscrew which he took, slightly taken aback.

"Girl guides?"

He asked, moving tentatively over to the bottle and removing the crisp silver foil at it's neck.

"Not quite."

She murmured, watching him, her eyes following each and every careful movement of his fingers.

As he began twisting the metal into the cork she moved back over to the cupboard, retrieving two long stemmed wine glasses and placing them in front of him, the cool glass clinked as she set them down.

She watched as he pulled the cork free with a satisfying pop. He lifted the bottle with one hand, his other holding the glasses steady, filling each one with the deep red liquid.

"Cheers..."

He said as he set the bottle down and took up one of the glasses.

She raised her own glass, holding it just before her lips, eyes meeting his, still that glittering look of amusement dancing among the soft green of her eyes.

"Cheers."

She whispered.

**More soon, if anyone would like me to continue? xxx**


	10. Chapter 10

Connie sat with the ease of a transfixed cat. Her fingers held the bowl of her wine glass so effortlessly that to Max it looked as though it might fall from her grasp at any moment.

She swallowed her last mouthful, narrowing her eyes against the dim light. The romantic whisper of an early autumn evening had darkened the room considerably, only the light from a small table lamp on her desk illuminating the room, casting long shadows of everything about the walls.

Max leant against her desk, his eyes moving over the book titles that lined the shelves behind her desk. His foot tapped a light but rhythmic beat against the floor. He glanced at her, hearing her shift in the leather of the chair.

Seeing her empty glass he took hold of the wine bottle that still stood next to him before she could reach for it. She paused, then relaxed back into the sofa.

"Aren't you the gentleman."

She murmured, watching his face as he poured the wine with deceptively steady hands. He topped his own too before placing the bottle back in it's place on the glossy wood of her desk.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that..."

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised, a tentative smile lacing his lips wet with wine.

She smiled, dipping her head.

"So..."

He looked about the room, searching for something to say. He hadn't eaten since breakfast due to the drama of the day and the wine was making his head feel thick.

"How long have you been doing...this?"

He asked, wincing at his own question, realising how lame it sounded as he spoke. She didn't answer for a moment, sipping her drink, eyes fixed on the door as if she expected someone to knock.

"Not long."

She answered eventually, blinking against the trance like state she had fallen into, returning back, eyes again on him, a deep sea green against the mustard yellow light.

"I was in the States before..."

She left the sentence unfinished and dipped her head again to take another sip of her drink while Max nodded, pondering her words.

"It's a different world isn't it...really."

He spoke to no one in particular, except for perhaps himself, but he looked to her anyway. She frowned slightly

"Yours, I mean."

He added.

"Travelling...saving lives..."

He continued.

She smiled again, head tilted to one side, she raised her free arm to rest on the arm of the sofa and pushed her fingers into her hair to support her head. The movement caught the collar of her shirt, causing it to gape open at her collar bone, her freckled flesh a soft tan dipping into dark shadow.

"Mmm."

She merely murmured in response.

"I can't even imagine..."

He glanced again at the books whose authors he had never heard of and whose name's he couldn't pronounce.

"Why would you want to?"

She asked, taking him by surprise. He shrugged slowly, unsure of his answer.

"More wine?"

She changed the subject so quickly that his mind fought to catch up, still thinking about her, this office, this life of hers so different from his own.

"In the cupboard?"

He asked, standing up himself and making his way over to the cupboard as she nodded, seemingly amused at his eagerness to get things for her.

He found another bottle of the same, taking the cork screw to it with ease and making his way over to her, reaching out to take her glass from her, but instead she placed her glass at her feet before placing a hand over his own that grasped the neck of the bottle. Her hand was hot and soft. She pulled him slowly closer.

"Thank you for today."

She spoke softly, her hand still covering his.

He felt his back begin to throb, stooping down to her, unsure as to whether or not she wanted him to let her have the bottle of whether she wanted him to keep hold of it.

"I didn't do much...you were the one saving his life."

He loosened his grip underneath her own and she let go of his hand.

"You were pretty incredible."

He added, watching her hand slip away and feeling immediately sorry for initiating the loss of contact between them.

She let her body fall back into the sofa, the wine glass still at her feet.

"Sorry, did you want some more?"

He asked, gesturing hesitantly with the bottle. She shook her head slightly, pursing her lips into a coy smile as he made to turn away to fill his own glass.

"It's much comfier here."

She spoke softly, almost a whisper, placing a hand on the cool leather of the seat next to her.


	11. Chapter 11

The leather creaked and puckered as Max lowered himself into the space next to Connie. He became instantly very aware of his left knee, making a conscious effort not to relax his leg in case it fell against her own.

He folded the arm nearest her across himself, resting his hand over his bandaged arm, itching it through the material.

"Is it sore?"

She asked, watching his movements. He glanced at her. How different she looked close up, he thought suddenly.

Her skin was smooth and pale, and despite the make up he could still see the faint scattering of freckles, the fleck of green within her eyes, that before had gone unnoticed. He shook his head, removing his hand and placing it awkwardly on his knees.

"No..."

He looked at his own hand, resting there on his knee, it was flecked with tiny scratches, as if a kitten had attacked him.

She cleared her throat and shifted slightly so that she could draw one leg up, curling it underneath herself, twisting to face him, elbow resting on the back of the sofa, hand loosely pushed into the curls of her hair.

She drew in a breath, regarding him with that tell-tale amusement that so often laced her expression.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?"

She asked, her voice quieter than it had been.

He almost laughed, rubbing his fingers against his forehead.

"I can imagine you make most people feel uncomfortable."

He spoke before looking up at her, unable to make out the look behind her eyes. She exhaled slowly, looking away, to something invisible at the tips of her fingers.

She made to get up, taking him by surprise, but as she did so there came a knock at the door. She stood, smoothing down her shirt and moving to open the door.

Robyn hesitated, wringing her hands together as she stood in the doorway to the office.

"Sorry..."

She apologised, glancing past Connie to where Max sat.

"I was..."

She gestured to Max.

"Mum's been calling, she wants you to ring her and tell her how you are."

She spoke to Max who rose from where he sat, making her way over to him.

"Well, you'd better go and let her know you're still alive then..."

Connie spoke, all traces of good humour seemed to have left her. She looked from Robyn, a nervous mass of ginger hair that she had let loose from her plaits at the end of shift, to Max, who frowned, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"You couldn't tell her...?"

He asked Robyn, who rolled her eyes.

"She wants to hear it from you..."

She said softly, looking to Connie who seemed suddenly bored of the conversation.

Max stepped awkwardly past her, pausing to speak but she looked away, stepping back into the darkness of the office.

"Thank you for your help today."

She said, refusing to look back as she moved to look out of the window.

He hovered, not quite sure of where he stood. Robyn placed a hand on his arm.

"I'll see you...around, then..."

He spoke awkwardly, the sudden change in her unnerving him, making him feel all the more uncomfortable.

She didn't respond, merely waited for them to shut the door, which they did, after a second or two. The soft click of it closing allowed her shoulders to fall, her jaw to slacken and she yawned into the back of her hand.

All of a sudden she could hear the ticking of the clock, the murmur of the hospital beyond the door to her office, the gentle soar of an aeroplane out of the window. All of a sudden the room had lost it's appeal, the warm silence had left with Max, and now she remained, arms tightly about her chest, glimpsing her own reflection in the window. Alone.

**More later! :) xxx**


	12. Chapter 12

The next day dawned. The weather had calmed and now varied between heavy fog and milky sunshine. The sun barely gathering enough warmth to break through to heat the day. The tell-tale sign that autumn wasn't far away.

Upon leaving her office the night before, Connie had discovered that the window that Max had broken free for her could no longer close, jarred and stuck in it's hinges.

She came in that morning to discover a fine film of condensation on the inside of the window and a scattering of birch leaves across the carpet, the window sill wet with early morning dew. She touched it with her fingertips, it was cold and just deep enough to cover the soft underside of her index and ring fingers.

Outside a pigeon coo-cooed somewhere above her, answered by the soft fluttering flap of a neighbouring pigeon who swooped up from a tree to join him or her on the roof of the hospital.

She withdrew her hand from the puddle and wrapped her arms about her chest, watching the cars drawing into the car park below. The scaffolding no longer creaked or wobbled and far below on the hard black tarmac she could see the men fixing it, occasionally the clatter or clunk of metal floating up to her. Was Max down there with them? She couldn't tell, the six or seven men below all dressed the same, a series of yellow hats moving about beneath her gradually moving up the scaffolding.

She withdrew from the window in search of something to mop up the water with, noticing as she did that the carpet just beneath the window was also damp.

Finding a tea towel she mopped up the water and wrung it into the sink, hanging it over the tap to dry off before making her way over to her desk where she sat, faced with the black and white photograph of Grace which was set at an angle at the corner of her desk.

She looked at it for a moment, just let her gaze move across her daughters frozen face. She was smiling, something she rarely seemed to do. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face and braided in a long plait that hung neatly across her shoulder. Connie touched her fingers to her lips, they felt dry. She looked away from the photo, fighting the urge to turn it from view.

Instead she moved about the room tidying things away. She had left last night without clearing away the glasses, wine bottle...as she took hold of it she remembered how he had held it. How eagerly he had filled her glass. She found herself at the window again, looking down once more at the yellow hats. They were making slow progress up the side of the building. She surprised herself by searching for a tell-tale white bandage on an arm...but they were too far down, too close together to see.

She seemed unable to focus on anything. Again the pigeons cooed and she glanced up, seeing the soft grey tale feathers protruding over roof above her. Clawed feet shuffling, never seeming to stay still. If she held her breath she could hear the scraping of their claws.

"Connie?"

A voice made her jump and she turned so quickly that she caught her knuckles against the window frame.

Charlie was standing in her doorway.

"I did knock..."

He said, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind him.

"I was..."

She paused, waving a hand non-committally in the air.

"...miles away."

She concluded, rolling her eyes at herself, moving to her desk.

"Everything al-right?"

He asked, glancing to the window.

She smiled, shaking her head.

"I'm fine. Just one of those days."

She murmured.

"Already!?"

He asked, glancing to the clock. It was still early, only twenty past nine.

She followed his gaze, murmuring her response.

"Anyway..."

He rested a hand on the door handle.

"You're needed on the ward..."

He said, pushing the handle down and opening the door, watching as she cast another quick glance at the open window.

"I'd get someone to have a look at that if I were you...?"

He said, she smiled slightly.

"I don't mind the fresh air."

She said simply, moving past him into the corridor, leading the way onto the ward.

Guy met her just outside of the double doors that opened out onto the ward, Zoe and a man she didn't recognise stood at his side.

"Connie!"

Guy greeted her, reaching out an arm to touch her. She folded her arms instinctively across her chest, looking from Guy to the other man and back to him, noting the frown that creased Zoe's forehead.

"Guy."

She murmured his name, stepping out of the way as a patient was wheeled past them.

"Listen, I'll keep this brief, I've noticed the department struggling over the past few weeks, and what with winter on it's way..."

Guy paused, noticing the slow raising of Connie's eyebrow, the slight purse of her lips. It was after all, only the tale end of summer.

"He arrived sooner than I expected, I would have mentioned something had I'd known."

He gestured to the man who stood next to him.

"This is Dr Cutler, he's the son of an old friend of mine...I trust you'll make him feel welcome?"

He lowered his voice as he spoke. The man now introduced as Dr Cutler smiled slightly, his green eyes narrowed as he looked at her, no hand shake, just the slight nod of his head, dip of his chin.

"Welcome...?"

Connie began, slightly lost.

"He'll be joining your team as of tomorrow. Today I thought that yourself and Dr Hanna could show him the ropes..."

Connie fought the tense twitch of her lip, she inhaled slowly, arranging a slow smile across her lips.

"Of course."

She said simply, again catching the look of pure disbelief on Zoe's face.

Guy nodded to himself, seemingly rather pleased with himself.

"Perhaps you could start by giving him a tour...?"

He coaxed as Connie seemed to pause.

"I'm sure we can manage."

Connie answered, still rearranging her thoughts. She looked pointedly to Zoe who raised her eyebrows, mouth partially open.

"Dr Hanna, would you show Dr Cutler where to leave his things..."

She looked toward the bag he held and the brown tweed coat he had hung over one arm.

"And I will meet you on the ward."

She looked again to Zoe who visibly sighed, glancing at Dr Cutler before pressing her ID badge against the door to open it.

"Follow me..."

She instructed with much more enthusiasm than Connie had expected.

Dr Cutler dutifully followed Zoe onto the ward, tossing a backward glance to Connie as they passed through the doors.

She watched him go, making sure they were out of sight before turning to Guy, her expression pinched, her voice low, hands firmly placed on her hips.

"I was under the impression that the hiring of new members of staff would be my decision, OR at the very least I would have some sort of say in the matter?!"

Connie spoke so quickly that Guy had to visibly lean forward to keep up with her. He held out his hands in defence.

"I told you, Connie...I didn't know..."

"Oh Guy! Please..."

She rolled her eyes as she cut him off, almost smiling at such a blatant lie.

He crossed his arms, regarding her with a sigh.

"He's a good doctor, Connie."

He said eventually.

"I've no doubt about that."

She answered curtly. She drew in a long breath and exhaled it all at once, running a hand through her hair.

"I suppose I will just have to go and..."

She left the sentence unfinished as a porter pushed an elderly woman in a wheelchair between herself and Guy.

"This is my department, Guy."

She said instead, lowering her gaze to fish for her ID tag, pushing open the doors to the ward with much more force than was necessary and leaving Guy to stand in the corridor alone.

**More later, I hope whoever is reading this is still enjoying it :) Much more excitement to come xxx**


	13. Chapter 13

Connie waited by the nurses station, arms neatly folded, her hair tied back from her face.

She watched as Zoe led Dr Cutler back from the staff room. She took him in. He wasn't quite six foot. His hair was a honeyed brown pushed back from his face, his grey shirt coming un-tucked above the brown of his belt and as he neared she noticed the soft brown leather boots that he wore, the tongues of which seemed too loose and flapped as he walked. She glanced at his hands as they stopped before her. No wedding ring.

"Well?"

She asked, looking between them as approached.

"Is that an interjection? Or an enquiry after my health?"

He winked as he spoke, and she was somewhat surprised to hear the thick Irish accent with which he spoke.

She raised an eyebrow.

"I hope you found everything to your satisfaction?"

She asked, ignoring his question, refusing to befriend this man who was clearly using his status with Guy Self as a means to getting a job rather than relying on talent.

He smiled, his whole face seemed to smile and he looked mildly surprised.

"You're a tough one aren't you?!"

He exclaimed, his voice loud enough for the nurses at the nursing station to hear. Connie glanced at them, for the first time noticing how many of the female staff had gathered to have a look at the newcomer.

"Professional...I think is the word, Dr Cutler."

She exhaled as she spoke, turning on her heel.

"RESUS is this way...Dr Hanna, don't feel you have to join us."

She said, noting the relief erase the frown that had been creased across Zoe's forehead ever since Dr Cutler had made his arrival. She mouthed 'thank you' before backing away back onto the ward.

"Just this way..."

Connie spoke, and again her tone was different for him than it had been for Zoe. They moved out through the doors and towards RESUS.

They stopped just short of the double doors, behind the glass they could see Cal and Rita with a patient.

"Dr Knight and Nurse Freeman."

Connie lowered her voice as she identified the staff beyond the doors for him. He nodded as if somehow he already knew.

"I made a point to check you all out on the notice board in reception."

He said, without looking to her, his eyes focused on what was going on in the room beyond.

Connie watched him, he needed a shave, she decided, eyeing the dark stubble that no doubt was in fashion.

"I'll show you to my office."

She decided, wanting to get this sorted, no doubt he would want to ask questions, he seemed the sort to, and there was a mounting pile of things that she needed to do growing by the minute in her office.

"Oh you have an office..."

He spoke in an odd way that for a moment she wondered if he might be making fun of her.

"Are we being patronising?"

She asked, exasperated already by his obvious amusement at everything. He smiled again and shook his head, pushing his hands into his pockets as she moved off along the corridor again.

"No, no... we is just being childish."

He murmured, his accent so thick she had to listen carefully to understand him when he mumbled like that.

He followed her like a disobedient puppy straining at the lead all the way to the office. She opened the door, the wind billowing in through the window and slamming the door shut behind them so loudly that Connie made sure to check that it still opened before closing it shut again.

"Have a seat."

She instructed, moving around to tidy up a pile of paperwork someone had left on her desk.

"I'm fine thanks..."

He glanced about her office, still his hands remained pushed into his pockets.

"Didn't you want to ask anything?"

She asked, looking pointedly to where his hands were hidden before looking back up to meet his gaze. He smiled again, his tongue sticking out briefly.

"Just one thing."

He said, lowering his voice and moving closer so that he stood, pushing his thighs against the other side of her desk, his face lowered as if about to tell a secret.

She found herself leaning in.

"Why don't you like me?"

He asked quickly, watching her expression shift from confusion to exasperation. She rolled her eyes again and stepped back. He bit the skin of his bottom lip, still he smiled!

"Dr Cutler..."

"Tristan."

He cut in, catching her off guard by holding out his hand across the desk, offering it to her.

"Tristan..."

She repeated, taking his hand and shaking it as quickly as was polite. His hand was warm from being in his pocket and her own hand felt small and cold within it.

"I don't know what you've been used to, where you've worked before but..."

"St Margaret's, Chicago. Cardiothoracics."

He cut her off again, pushing his hand back into his pocket.

For a moment she was speechless, left with her mouth partially open until she had processed what he had said.

"You don't have to like me. But I'd like it if you did..."

He added, tilting his head to one side.

She cleared her throat and raised a hand to the nape of her neck, rubbing the hair there that was caught up in her pony tail.

"What made you decide to come here?"

She asked. He hunched his shoulders in a half-shrug.

"I could ask you the same question."

He winked again and she felt her frustration begin to rise all the more.

The door clicked open and Guy's head pushed through the gap, just his face and his hand visible.

"Sorry Connie, can I borrow Tristan?"

He asked, with the barest glimpse of an apology at bursting In without knocking.

"Be my guest."

She breathed, gesturing to Tristan who stepped back from the desk with a flourish, maintaining eye contact with her whilst he exited the room.

"A pleasure to meet you, Connie."

He called, following Guy out and pushing the door closed behind him.

"Mrs Beauchamp..."

Connie hissed, placing her hands firmly on her hips and glaring at the closed door, irritatingly aware that he hadn't heard her correction.

"Tea?"

A voice from the window made her jump, she turned to see Max, one hand on her window sill, the other holding a flask. His hat was at an odd angle and he had a grease mark across one cheek running just half way over the bridge of his nose.

She let her hands fall from her waist, oddly pleased to see him but in no way sure how to convey this.

"I seem to be in a perpetual state of surprise today."

She breathed, moving over to the window.

"Sorry..."

He smiled, that smile, that slow even smile that in turn tempted a smile of her own.

"That's better."

He said, noting the trace of a smile. She arced an eyebrow in response.

"Who was that then?"

He asked, looking to the door where Dr Cutler had just exited through.

"It's not important."

She found herself yawning, stifling it with her hand.

"late night?"

He asked, offering out the plastic lid of the flask which was full of strong brown tea. She looked to it, ordinarily she would have refused, but Guy had re-awoken the rebelliousness within her and she found herself accepting it before she had a chance to rethink. She bought the blue plastic to her lips and took a sip, wincing at the strength of it.

"Paper work."

She answered, handing him back the cup through the window.

He took a sip himself.

"Not going to join me out here this time then?"

He asked, smiling again. Somehow when he was out there on the scaffolding he was himself, unlike yesterday. As soon as he had entered her office he had become someone else, something less than who he really was.

She shook her head.

"Why don't you come in here?"

She asked, the rebelliousness bubbling within her, making her stomach tense pleasurably.

He looked beyond her into the room, as if the mere sight of it made him nervous.

She stepped back from the window, silently challenging him to accept, which he did so after a ,moment, resting his flask on the window sill before pulling himself in over the window sill.

His t-shirt was grease stained from the scaffolding and marked from the boards. He took off his hat and rested it next to the flask, his hair stuck to his forehead and he ran a hand through it, shaking it free.

"I want to apologise."

She said, watching him as he picked up the blue plastic cup again and took another sip before holding It out to her.

"What for?"

He asked as she refused the cup.

"It wasn't my intention to make you feel uncomfortable."

She let herself relax back onto the desk, sitting down on the very edge of it, arms loosely placed in her lap.

He wiped at the grease mark on his face.

"Don't be silly."

He said, taking another sip of tea.

She allowed herself to smile slightly, unsure of what to say next.

He set the tea back down again and in a strangely hesitant move manoeuvred himself to sit down next to her. He smelled of autumn, of smoke and damp, but not unpleasantly.

"So."

He said simply, lowering his eyes to where her hands lay uncurled in her lap.

"So."

She repeated, her voice sounding distant between them.

"I know it's none of my business..."

He nudged her sideways, putting his weight against her.

"But whatever's going on, whoever is being an idiot...don't let them get to you."

He felt warm against her side, she felt herself smile again as she looked up at him. She hadn't realised how close the two of them were. She could feel his breath against her own face, and she supposed he too could feel hers.

She felt his hand move from his own lap, his fingers just touching against her cheek, brushing the stray hairs back away from her skin, tucking them neatly behind her ear. Her body stiffened, her breath caught somewhere in her chest.

"Thank you..."

She whispered.

**More soon! xxx**


	14. Chapter 14

Over the next few days an unspoken arrangement seemed to set itself in place. Every morning, while Connie was sorting through patient files, and every afternoon, if she was there, Max would climb in through the open window from the scaffolding ,and into her office where he would share his flask of tea with her while she muttered about budget cuts and targets. None of which he fully understood but at least he was there to listen, to bounce ideas off of.

The end of the week finally came, the weather had turned and there was the glimmer of autumn in the frisk of the wind.

Max leant against the windowsill, his blue plastic cup in hand, the nip in the wind sending a shiver along his back.

Connie was speaking to someone on the phone. She paced back and forth across the office floor, her free hand pressed against her forehead as she frowned, trying to understand whatever it was that the person on the other end of the phone was saying.

He watched her intently, her stiletto's tap-tapping on the floor tiles as she moved.

It had been a busy morning, she had been on the phone for most of it, and Max had only a few minutes left of his break.

She hung up without warning, glaring at the phone before placing it down firmly on the desk. She drew in a steadying breath and exhaled slowly.

"One of those days?"

Max asked, taking the last sip of his tea and screwing the cup back onto the flask. Connie looked up, momentarily having forgotten his presence.

"Aren't they always?"

She breathed, leaning against her desk, folding her arms, facing his silhouette that stood against the window.

"Why do you do it?"

He asked after a pause. She shrugged her shoulders in an uncharacteristic attempt at nonchalance.

"This is what I do..."

She said eventually. He narrowed his eyes as if trying to work her out. She let the hint of a smile escape her lips.

There came the sudden tapping of a hard hat on metal from beyond the window.

"I think that's your call..."

Connie murmured. Max glanced down out of the window. A face looked up at him from below, beckoning him down.

"See you later?"

Max asked, hoisting himself up to straddle the window ledge, flask tucked under one arm.

Connie smiled, the corners of her lips curling downwards, her lips pursing and she dipped her head.

"Perhaps."

She nodded, watching him smile in return as he lowered himself down onto the outside of the building.

Once he had disappeared she stepped back and turned herself from the window as she always did when he left the room.

Why was it, she thought, that relations between different people were so unsatisfactory, so fragmentary, so hazardous. What was she left with now, in this empty office? Was she feeling left alone in the emptiness? The mystery of life and the unreality even of one's own sensations were almost too much to bare. Had it always been this hard, she wondered? Or was it the ED? Grace? Growing older? Or was it just that she was tired of being alone?  
>She pushed her fingers into the furrow between her eyes, closing them against the pressure. Mentally chastising herself, pulling herself, all of the fragments of herself back together. Guy couldn't shake her, she decided. Whatever he decided to throw at her, she would remain, and she would come out on top.<br>She glanced at the clock. If she made her way to surgery now she would be early, but she would miss the crowd of people all getting into scrubs together, all, she assumed, talking about the new boy.  
>Decision made she left the office with her habitual backward glance to the window, only a passing seagull breaking the view.<p>Connie pushed against the double doors into theatre, taken aback by the presence of Guy and Tristan, masks covering their mouths, clearly about to begin the procedure that she had been scheduled to do.<br>She glanced at the clock. They had started early. She cleared her throat in a deliberate attempt the gain their attention. Guy refused to take her bait but Tristan looked up, his eyes unreadable above his mask.  
>"Mrs Beauchamp!"<br>He announced, his voice muffled.  
>"Sorry...? I was under the impression that I would be operating, as Mr Henderson is my patient?"<br>Her words were clipped, she looked from Tristan to Guy who looked up at her as she spoke.  
>"I didn't think you'd mind. Give Tristan a chance to see how we do things around here...give you a chance to catch up on all that paperwork that you must have."<br>Guy murmured, not even the hint of an apology...  
>Connie dug the nail of her thumb into the soft pad of her middle finger.<br>"Surely it's only polite to let me know...?"  
>She made sure to maintain composure, refusing to let Guy ruffle her. He smiled beneath his mask.<br>"Perhaps you would like to take my place?"  
>He asked, stepping back from the operating table and removing his mask before she could reply.<br>"I'm sure there's a lot you could teach him."  
>He said as he screwed up his mask and tossed it into the bin, moving passed her to the exit doors.<br>She refused to watch him leave, but could hear his footsteps pause at the door.  
>"I'm sure he will flourish under your guidance."<br>He said simply.  
>She heard the doors open and close, glancing up to find Tristan still there, still watching her, scalpel in one hand.<br>"Ready?"  
>He asked. She glanced to Mr Henderson.<br>"You'd better show me what you can do."  
>She said, her voice low. She folded her arms pointedly across her chest and backed away from the table, standing instead with her back to the wall, a fair distance away.<br>"Without you?"  
>He asked, gesturing alarmingly with the scalpel.<br>"He's all yours."  
>She murmured, watching as he frowned slightly before looking around at the rest of the team.<br>"Ri-ight..."  
>He looked down at the patient.<br>"Well! Team...What can I tell you? A few ground rules. No bombing, no running, no petting, no diving and no inflatables. In fact, probably best to leave all swimming related activities until later ; this is after all, an operating theatre."  
>He paused in his theatrics, looking over to the anaesthetist.<br>"Shall we begin?"

**More soon! xxx**


	15. Chapter 15

Connie watched the procedure, noticing Tristan's every movement, every cut, every glance up to the monitors. He moved smoothly and quickly, ignoring her and seemingly unphased by her presence.

He joked with the anaesthetist, flirted shamelessly with the nurses with an ease that made the recipients of his flirtations blush beneath their masks.

She watched him for the mistake that she was certain that he would make.

"Ok!"

He announced as he reached for the needle that was placed on the tray next to him.

"Let's sew this...mother up..."

He adjusted his mask briefly with a gloved hand. Connie tilted her head to see, watching as Robyn yawned next to him.

"Tired?"

Tristan asked, beginning to stitch the patient back up.

"Sorry...I didn't sleep very well last night."

She covered another yawn with the back of her wrist.

"Late night?"

He asked, eyes firmly on the job at hand.

"No, although I did have a rather interesting lesbian dream."

She spoke almost without meaning to, glancing in a rather alarmed manner to Connie who merely raised an eyebrow in her direction.

"Would you like to talk about that?"

He asked, sewing small neat stitches along the long incision.

"I don't really remember it..."

Robyn muttered, glancing again to Connie who remained mute, arms folded tightly across her chest.

"Make it up? Numbers...positions..."

Tristan asked, clearing his throat, still not looking up. Robyn blushed, the pink prickling across her skin, mottling her cheeks beneath her freckles.

"Perhaps you could try and have another one tonight...you could make notes...bring them in tomorrow?"

Tristan looked at her briefly, winking quickly.

"I'm joking..."

He whispered as he tied the last stitch in place.

He stepped back from the table, Robyn stepping in to finish up as he pulled his mask and gloves off, tossing them into the bin from some distance and making his way over to Connie. He leaned in toward her.

"How did I do?"

He asked, his voice low. She could smell peppermint on his breath and when he smiled she noted how straight his teeth were.

"As Guy said earlier. I'm sure you will flourish under my guidance."

She said simply. He pursed his lips against a smile, his eyes glittered with amusement.

"I thought I'd done quite well..."

He whispered, leaning in closer.

She dipped her face, averting her gaze.

"Yes, well the patient is still alive..."

She watched as Mr Henderson was wheeled from the room, the double doors swinging back and forth on their hinges as the small party of medics left.

"Oh come on!"

He almost laughed, stepping back away from her and raising his hands in mock disbelief.

"First day in a new job, operating solo and I've got you hovering over me like a bloody vulture just waiting for me to fuck up..."

He paused as she raised her eyebrows.

"Language, please Dr Cutler."

She warned. He laughed.

"Who's going to hear me?!"

He asked, the smile he had worn so perfectly faltering as he gestured about the room. She arced her eyebrows.

"Oh please. You never swear?"

He laughed.

"I believe it shows poor vocabulary..."

She breathed, watching as his smile expanded.

She took a deep breath in and exhaled. The room was eerily quiet for a moment. She could feel the tension between them, the air stale and taught.

"Connie..."

"Mrs Beauchamp."

She corrected, cutting him off. He raised his hands once again, rolling his eyes, exasperated.

"What is it about me that you don't like hmm? Or that you don't approve of?"

He asked, regarding her with eyes that reflected the room around them.

"Just do your job. Dr Cutler. That's all I want from you."

She made to leave, turning on her heel but he caught her arm, his grip was stronger than she had anticipated and she stumbled slightly.

"That's all I am giving you but you don't seem to be happy with it and I'd like to know why..."

He seemed a lot taller than her all of a sudden, she disliked the way he seemed to dominate her, she could smell him again, the peppermint, the hint of aftershave or deodorant...

"Let go of my arm."

She spoke slowly, her voice low and threatening. She felt his grip loosen, but still it remained.

"I said let go."

She repeated, shrugging him off so that his hand fell back down to his side.

"I was under the impression that I could learn a lot from you...that you were the best..."

She cleared her throat, halting his words, eyebrows raised.

"Let's get one thing straight shall we Dr Cutler? I am the best, and you will learn a lot from me...if you apply yourself correctly."

Her words were clipped her arms folding tighter across her chest, creasing the white fabric of her shirt.

The faint trace of a smile began to rebuild behind his eyes.

"That's two things, three if you count the valedictory flourish."

He murmured, crossing his own arms, mirroring stance.

"Was it the lesbian jokes? Did I offend you?"

He asked, rocking back on his heels, the rubber of his soles squeaking on the tiled floor.

"I'm not a lesbian."

She snapped.

"I didn't say you were! But good to know."

He laughed again, this time the frustration seemed to disperse with it. He eyed her with curiosity.

"Are you this way with everyone or is it just because you think that I used my relationship with Guy to get me here?"

He asked, his words catching her off guard.

"Didn't you?"

She asked, watching the satisfactory smile grace his lips. He'd guessed correctly.

"You're not telling me that if you had a valuable contact that you wouldn't use it? You saw how I performed just a minute ago, would you say I was competent?"

He asked, again rocking back and forth on his heels so that those ridiculously large tongues on his boots slapped against his ankles.

"I look for a little more than mere competency..."

She breathed, raising a hand to brush the hair away from her forehead. Her head was beginning to ache and she hadn't eaten yet today.

"Ok...OK!"

He paused for a moment, just looking at her.

"How about we start over? How can I go about changing your mind...how do I impress you?"

He asked leaning forward as he spoke.

She rolled her eyes.

"Come with me."

She replied, turning sharply on her heel.

**More soon xxx**


	16. Chapter 16

As they made their way back onto the ward there was the tight, palpable air of unease that Connie picked up on immediately, almost as if she could smell it. She stopped abruptly, feeling the soft bump of Tristan against her back before he moved beside her, apologising under his breath.

Charlie was making his way towards them.

"Connie..."

He spoke before he was quite near enough and paused, closing the gap between them.

"There's been an incident in the city centre. An explosion has gone off in a club, I've just spoken to St James's and they intend to close, they're already racking up beds in the corridors.."

He glanced to Tristan, pausing briefly.

"Of course they are. Meanwhile each of our patients get their own room and a member of nursing staff each...don't they?"

She raised an eyebrow, watching as a porter wheeled a bed in across the ward, and was waved away, back out into the corridor by a flustered nurse.

"So we will be taking the majority."

Charlie concluded, ignoring her comments.

She sucked in a breath.

"Right...OK."

She placed her hands on her hips, her elbow brushing against Tristan who yet again stepped aside.

"Any idea on ETA's?"

She asked. Charlie rubbed at the back of his neck with a hand.

"We're already taking in walking wounded..."

He began.

"Ok, I need you to set up a triage in reception for the minor injuries."

She glanced to the nursing station and raised a hand, hailing Rita who hurried over, a thick pile of notes under her arm.

"I need you to begin clearing cubicles. Get those notes signed and send them upstairs, we need beds."

She looked to Tristan, ignoring Rita's reply.

"You stay with me."

She spoke firmly but lowered her voice, moving off without warning, making her way to reception where they could hear the wails of the first of the ambulances arriving outside, the blue lights illuminating the entrance, bright against the night sky.

A stretcher was wheeled in, Dixie was already speaking by the time she met them, relaying all of the relevant information as quickly as she could, Jeff at her side already radioing in that they would be on their way back to the scene as soon as possible.

Connie and Tristan led the way back to RESUS, both Ash and Ethan were already treating various patients behind various screens.

"Name?"

Connie called, as Dixie helped to haul the young man from the stretcher onto the bed.

"Justin Phelps, he had this on him."

Dixie retrieved a singed ID card from her pocket and passed it to Connie who peered at it, squinting to see the writing through the cindered edges.

"I suspect it's a fake. He looks barely old enough to be in high school."

Dixie added, motioning to Jeff to follow her.

"Thank you..."

Connie called after them, hearing the swing of the doors behind her as they exited.

"Hello Justin, can you hear me?"

Connie leaned over the boy on the bed, as Dixie said he looked barely old enough to be out at a night club. His face was plump with youth, his hair a bright white sun-bleached blonde.

A nurse was busying herself with hooking him up to a BP machine.

"When you're done here would you find him on the system, find out his age, contact any next of kin?"

Connie instructed, waving a hand to gain the nurses attention, the room, although large, was crowded and the noise was difficult to speak over.

"Justin?"

She tried again, taking a torch from the trolley of equipment and gently lifting his eyelids, shining the light into his eyes, the bright blue of them contorting with the enlarging of his pupils.

"Both pupils responsive..."

She murmured, placing the torch down and unwrapping her stethoscope from her neck, fixing it against her ears and placing the cool plate against his chest, his bare chest, listening intently.

"Heart rate normal."

She removed her stethoscope and looked to Tristan who was watching the BP monitor.

"I need you to arrange bloods and a CT scan. There's no external injuries..."

As she spoke Justin began to cough, his face twisting and he raised a hand to his mouth, tugging on the line that the nurse had inserted into the back of his hand.

"Justin?"

Connie leant over him, placing a hand to steady him at the back of his neck as Tristan, following her lead without need of instruction, eased the bed into a reclined sitting position.

"Can you hear me?"

She tried again once Justin's coughs had subsided, he looked at her, his eyes squinted, stinging and watering.

"My name is Connie Beauchamp I'm the consultant looking after you, this is Dr Cutler."

She looked up, gesturing to Tristan who was re-attaching the needle against the boy's hand, sticking it down with a neat strip of tape.

"Where's..."

He tried to speak but his throat was hot and raw from the smoke that he had inhaled and he began to cough again.

"Can you tell me what happened, Justin?"

Connie asked, looking to Tristan, but seeing he was already pouring a glass of water for the boy she halted her words, watching as he passed it to him and helped him to sip at it, swallowing with a wince and a harsh clearing of his throat.

"I don't know...there was just a big...bang?"

He paused to clear his throat again, spitting into a sick bowl that Tristan held out for him.

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

She asked.

He shook his head.

"I was standing at the bar. I just remember the noise... I feel fine..."

He coughed again.

"Well you don't look fine."

Connie murmured.

"Can I ask how old you are?"

She added, feeling the ID card in her trouser pocket. Justin glanced at her, frowning slghty.

"Nineteen."

He said simply.

"Could you give me your date of birth?"

She asked, watching the corner of his mouth twitch, his frown deepening.

"How old are you?"

She asked again when he failed to reply.

"I'm nineteen!"

He exclaimed, eye-balling her with false confidence. She placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow.

"Eighteen..."

He sighed, shifting his position in the bed before looking back up at her. She remained motionless.

"Justin..."

Tristan spoke, tailing off, a slight warning to his tone of voice.

"Fine...seventeen..."

He huffed.

"What is this? A missile launch?!"

Connie asked, exasperated.

"Justin, you need treatment. We cannot administer this treatment unless you are completely honest with us."

"Fine. I'm sixteen."

He said finally. Folding his arms across his chest in that defiant way that only teenagers seem to be able to pull off.

"As I suspected."

She murmured.

The nurse returned, holding out the notes in one hand and placing them into Connie's outstretched grasp.

"Have you contacted next of kin?"

She asked as the nurse paused, she nodded.

"The parents are just outside."

She answered, her voice barely audible over the noise from the various monitors, patients, members of staff that were littered about the room.

"I don't want to see them!"

Justin announced through a spluttering cough.

"I'm afraid you have no choice, you're under eighteen..."

Connie began, ushering the nurse back out into the coridor to fetch the parents.

"I'm not a child. I'm sixteen! That means I can get married, have sex and join the army..."

He began.

"Hopefully not on the same day."

Tristan interjected. Connie raised an eyebrow at him and Justin sunk back into the bed, pouting his lips and looking to the door through which his parents came, his mother, a small mouse like woman wringing her hands, handbag over one shoulder, knocking at her hip as she scuttled toward the bed followed by Justin's father, a large well set man with a rugby-players build and shorn hair.

"Mr and Mrs Phelps?"

Connie asked.

"Are you ok? Is he ok?"

Mrs Phelps looked from Justin to Connie, whilst Tristan moved from one side of the bed to the other, giving the parents room to stand at their sons bedside. He moved in next to Connie.

"We're waiting on a scan and blood results but from what I can tell, he will be fine. He was knocked unconscious but like I said, I see no cause for concern at the moment."

Connie replied, a smile breaking her lips for the first time since Justin had entered RESUS.

"What the hell happened?!"

Mr Phelps asked to no one in particular, staring solidly at Justin who refused to look back at him.

"John..."

Mrs Phelps warned, placing a hand on her husbands, visibly squeezing it, her knuckles pink from where she had been clasping her hands together with worry.

"They said he was at some...night club?!"

Mr Phelps continued despite his wife's warnings, but had the courtesy to lower his voice as he spoke.

"Your son was involved in an explosion at a night club. We haven't heard yet what caused the explosion but..."

"I don't care what caused it! I care about why he was there?!"

Mr Phelps cut Connie off, laughing at her, void of humour, a deep bitter laugh that told both her and Tristan that he already knew why his son was there.

"I'm afraid only your son can tell you that."

Connie answered, looking to Justin who remained emotionless, staring at the screen opposite that was pulled around another patient.

Mr Phelps made to speak but his wife silenced him.

"Justin?"

She let go of her husbands hand and reached out for Justin's, taking hold of his charcoal smutted fingers and stroking them with her thumb.

"What's going on?"

She asked, tilting her head to gain eye contact, which Justin reluctantly granted her, looking at her with a sigh.

"I was with Brendan."

He said simply. The words which sounded so simple made Mrs Phelps turn her head slightly and Mr Phelps swore under his breath and took a step back from the bed, looking to his feet.

"You said you wouldn't see him anymore..."

His mother murmured, clearly trying to hold back tears.

"I think we should probably leave you to your conversation..."

Connie broke in, smiling slightly to bridge the awkwardness of the situation.

"No!"

Justin exclaimed, reaching out and grasping Connie's forearm, taking her by surprise.

"I don't want to be left with them. I need you to find out how Brendan is...where he is...?"

His grip tightened on Connie's arm and she had to gently prise his fingers away with her other hand before answering.

"I'm sorry but there are many other patients who need our help..."

Connie began, faltering as she felt Tristan's hand in the small of her back, his body leaning against her to lean across her.

"And Brendan is...?"

He asked, speaking across Connie who was left slightly stunned by his behaviour.

Justin glanced quickly to his parents before replying.

"He's my boyfriend."

He answered loudly, taking a bitter pleasure in the muttered cursing of his father.

"What's his surname?"

Tristan asked. Connie pushed a hand against his chest, murmuring his name but he eased her back with his hand still at her spine.

"Kinney."

Justin answered, lowering his voice somewhat.

"Right. Nurse?"

He hailed a nurse that was re-stocking a cabinet to his left. She looked up, her cheeks flushing as she noted who was summoning her.

"Could you locate a Brendan Kinney for me please?"

He asked, much to Connie's disapproval. She stood, wedged between him, and the wall, against the bed, his arm about her, his fingers pushed against the soft white cotton of her shirt.

"Dr Cutler...?"

She spoke again, raising her voice this time, her breath warm against his neck.

"Mmm?"

He glanced down at her.

"Can I ask what you think you're doing?"

She asked, struggling to control the anger that laced the edges of her words. He shrugged, letting his hand drop from her waist.

"Most adults assume that the feelings of adolescence don't count, somehow, and that those searing passions of rage and hate and embarrassment and horror and hopeless, abject love are something your grow out of, something hormonal, a practice run for the Real Thing. .."

He paused and moved his gaze from Connie to Justin.

"Right?"

He asked. Justin merely nodded, his eyes wide, mouth open.

"It isn't. At 16 *everything* counts; there are sharp edges on everything, and all of them cut. He's entitled to find out how his boyfriend is."

He concluded, shrugging again and taking a step back away from the table as the nurse he had asked to investigate the name poked her head around the double doors, the shadow of a man standing next to her.

Tristan raised a hand and gestured for her to allow him entrance.

"Once we are finished here I want to speak to you in my office."

Connie's words were all but a whisper but the venom within them was vicious and sparkling as a snake bite.

Tristan turned.

"I'll look forward to it."

He whispered.

**More very soon x I hope you are all enjoying it. I've had several comments asking if I've written any other fanfiction. I've also written a Max/Zoe story on here entitled 'Absolute Beginners' xxx**


	17. Chapter 17

As the nurse stepped aside a man was revealed. Connie caught the half disguised, almost silent laugh that escaped Tristan's lips as he entered and glanced to him, watching as he smiled. She looked to the man who had entered...Brendan...he was older, his clothes, black jeans, black shirt were sullied with ash and splintered with flecks of debris. His hair was dark but streaked with the grey of smoke, but his face was in stark contrast, clean, presumably freshly washed. Yesterday's stubble leaving a shadow across the lower half of his face, his eyebrows arced, his eyes a muddy brown that glinted as he flexed his jaw, setting it firmly, clenching his teeth as he was escorted closer.

"Brendan."

Tristan greeted him before anyone else had spoken, Justin sitting up in his bed, wincing against the throbbing ache that began in his head as he moved.

Brendan, whose eyes had been firmly fixed on Justin as he had entered, looked slowly to Tristan, the flicker of recognition igniting within his eyes. He smiled a slight twitch of a smile that flickered at the corner of his lips, exhaling through his nose and pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Ah, the Irishman!"

He spoke, his voice was low and smooth despite the crackle due to smoke inhalation.

"You _know _him?!"

Justin asked, adjusting the covers over his legs, looking between the two men at the foot of his bed.

Tristan looked to Brendan who pulled a coin from his pocket, looked at it and pushed it back in again.

"Intimately. Last year I believe?"

He spoke with the laziness of boredom and the nonchalance of those who truly do not care what others think of them.

Justin glanced at Tristan, looking him up and down. His father muttered something under his breath that no one quite caught, but Justin settled his gaze upon him for the first time.

"Excuse me, I don't think we've met."

He held out a hand to him, the button of his cuff was torn from it's place leaving a small hole and his cuff hung loose at his elbow, exposing his forearm and the singed skin.

Mr Phelps laughed but Brendan refused to retract his hand, instead he angled it towards Mrs Phelps who did her best to avoid eye contact.

"No? Wow...little bit rude."

He let his hand fall back to his side with a soft slap.

"What do you expect?!"

Mr Phelps laughed again, a raw humourless laugh, his eyes crackling with suppressed rage.

"We don't know where you've been...what you've got..."

He snarled, his teeth catching the light as he spoke.

"Where I've been?!"

It was Brendan's turn to laugh, he looked at Justin and smiled slowly.

"Oh I think you do. I think that's what the problem is, isn't it?"

He smirked and cast his gaze briefly over to Connie and Tristan who were discussing the referral of Justin up to have a CT scan with the nurse who had escorted Brendan in.

"And as for what I have?! I don't have AIDS. I assume that's what you mean?"

He scoffed, pushing his hands back into his pockets and rocking back on the balls of his feet.

"Have you been tested? If you're...if you're doing things...with my son..."

"Doing things?"

Brendan asked with a smile, tilting his head to one side in feigned innocence.

Mrs Phelps cut in, placing a small but calming hand upon her husbands chest.

"What I think my husband is worried about, is what could happen. We all know about HIV and AIDS...It's like playing with fire. I mean... what if a condom breaks? Or you're flossing your teeth and your gums bleed...?"

Brendan bit his lip against a smile.

**"**Or I shoot my load off and he's bending over to tie his shoe and it accidentally flies up his ass...?"

He asked, still the picture of innocence.

Mrs Phelps flushed and turned her face, looking to her husband who seemed to be turning purple with anger.

Connie placed her signature at the bottom of a piece of paper that the nurse held out for her and turned back to the conversation. Tristan still firmly by her side.

"Right. I think we all need to calm down. This is neither the time nor the place. You clearly have a lot to discuss but right now Justin needs to be taken up to have a CT scan to check for internal injuries. You are more than welcome to wait for him in the relatives room..."

"He's not waiting in the relatives room!"

Mr Phelps spoke louder than he had intended to, startling Justin who jumped at the sound of his voice, Brendan reached out instinctively for him but he was too far from the bed and he quickly folded his arms tightly around his chest instead.

"Mr Phelps, I suggest you concentrate on your son's health and not Mr Kinney."

She looked at him, her eyes like ball-bearings, grey in the acid strip lighting , her lips a pursed line, her hands firmly placed upon her hips.

Mr Phelps sucked in a breath and puffed out his chest, muttering and looking away while his wife, still blushing, looked at the floor.

"Well?"

She asked when no one seemed to move.

"I am not having that man waiting with us. I am not having _him _near my son!"

Connie raised a hand as Mr Phelps spoke, his voice, though raised, masked by the noise of a busy RESUS.

"You do not raise your voice at me. If you cannot behave like an adult I will have a member of security sit with you whilst the three of you wait in the relatives room..."

Mr Phelps smirked and rolled his eyes, sucking in another breath and exhaling as though bored.

"I'm sorry can you not hear me?"

Connie asked, leaning forward slightly. Mrs Phelps turned to her husband, speaking under her breath and Tristan placed his hand again in the small of her back, leaning into her, whispering to her to leave it.

"What would you do, hmm? Would you just let this man molest your child?!"

Mr Phelps asked, raising a hand to gesture to Justin.

Brendan made to interject but Connie raised a hand to stop him.

"Don't you go making false allegations that you will regret. Your son is sixteen, which means legally he can form a sexual relationship with..."

"A man!?"

Mr Phelps cut off, ogling her with bulging eyes.

"How old are you anyway?"

He fired his question at Brendan without warning.

"Why does my age matter?"

Brendan asked, frowning, his eyebrows knitting together at the bridge of his nose.

"Because you are too old to be having a relationship with my son!"

Mr Phelps exclaimed, exasperated with forcing his point.

"I'm too old or I'm too male, make up your mind."

Brendan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking at Justin through lowered eyes.

"You could have anything...any disease, what you do is not natural, you sleep around...you're disgusting."

He shook his head and placed a thick hand upon his sons shoulder.

"Why is it so important for you to believe that everyone is sleeping with everyone else? Just because I'm a fag doesn't mean I am somehow unable to be in a monogamous relationship. There is nothing that you, or your wife can do or say that is going to change your son's mind. You know that right?"

He paused and moved closer to the foot of the bed, taking hold of the bed rail and looking up at Mr Phelps.

"I'm 28. I own my own house. I have a degree, I am the director of an incredibly successful advertising business, I drive a fucking Bentley and I'm in love with your son. So what's the matter? How am I too fucked up for you? How am I too perverted for you? Because I get the feeling that whatever I say, whatever I do there will be nothing that I can do to make me the person that you are comfortable with."

The small group stood in silence for a moment, just the faint sound of Brendan catching his breath sounding between them, his eyes on Justin, Justin's on his, their love almost visible, colouring the air between them like sunlight.

"Dad..."

Justin began.

"I don't want to hear what you've got to say."

Mr Phelps said, his voice was flat and strained.

"I've got an idea!"

Tristan spoke suddenly, he spoke quickly and his accent threatened to mask his words.

"I've got an idea."

He spoke again, slower this time.

"How about you both just shut up for a minute and let Justin speak?"

He asked, looking between Brendan and Mr Phelps, his arms spread, palms open and facing the ceiling as if offering this idea to them on plates.

"Because she's got nothing to say. He's too young to know what he wants."

Mr Phelps answered, crossing his arms even tighter and rearranging himself where he stood.

"Go fuck yourself."

Justin murmured, voice low, focusing on Brendan as if drawing the strength he needed from him, Tristan raised an eyebrow.

"See, now I thought that was something?" 

Tristan placed his hands on his hips, subconsciously mirroring Connie.

"Now, this fabulous young man needs to go and be checked over. You either all run along to the relatives room and play nicely together or, like the woman in charge said, you will have security join you in there. But I do have to warn you..."

He leant across the bed and lowered his voice to a stage whisper.

"be careful of what you touch, you never know, someone with AIDS might have been there before you..."

He hissed. Mr Phelps's skin began to turn violet again.

"You're just another one of _them! _You all just look after one another...I am not going be humiliated by a bunch of..."  
>Tristan laughed, cutting him off.<br>"Fags? Queers? I've got news for you, big man. You already have been."

And with that Mr Phelps turned and with a murmured flurry of swearing he left the room, followed by his pale wife who scurried after him, reaching out a hand to him as she made her way out of the room.

The atmosphere changed immediately. Brendan moved in next to Justin and dipped his head, kissing his forehead and stroking back the blonde hair from his face.

Connie stepped back allowing them their privacy before Justin was taken upstairs.

She turned to Tristan who was thumbing through Justin's notes, all those moments, those memories. Everything that we are, compressed in just two or three kilos of paper — the weight of a human heart within his hands.

She leant against him to gain his attention, raising her gaze to meet his.

"That, Dr Cutler, is how you impress me."

**More soon xxx**

**Oh and just a note: This story does get 'M' rated very soon, which will then become much more frequent as the story progresses. Max will also suddenly begin to appear ALOT more as their relationship (both friendship and sexual relationship grows) I tend to get caught up in the story and, especially the detail, so I apologise if I'm taking forever to get to the bits that people are waiting for. They will come soon, I promise :) xxx**


	18. Chapter 18

Reception was teaming with dismantled individuals, some barely injured, some bloodied and dusty. Charlie was doing his best, Tess disappeared and reappeared , making the most of a bad situation whilst Rita scuttled about shouting orders and looking harassed.  
>Connie stood in the doorway, Tristan opposite her as they held the doors back for a passing trolley. Dixie mouthing her thanks as they passed by. Connie flinched as the trolley knocked against her arm, catching her fingertips.<br>"You alright?"  
>Tristan asked, seeing her flinch. She raised her hand to inspect her fingers, her knuckle was grazed and there was a thin scratch to her index finger where tiny red beads of blood began to surface. She rubbed them away, the scratch was so minor that the bleeding seemed to stop immediately.<br>"Fine."  
>She murmured, letting her hand fall back down to her side. Looking up to survey the room.<br>"Mrs Beauchamp?"  
>Charlie waved a hand to her, gaining her attention, a young boy was slumped against him, Charlie struggling against the weight of him.<br>They moved over to him, pushing their way passed slow moving individuals.  
>"And this is?"<br>Connie asked, allowing Tristan to ease the boy away from Charlie, he was conscious but his face was a pallid grey, the colour of old dish cloths and the soft loose texture of over-ripe apple skin.  
>"I didn't get his name, he was on his way passed and he toppled into me. Can you take him? I've got my hands full..."<br>He gestured to the room of people about him. Connie nodded, glancing about reception. There was barely space enough to move, surrounded by shirtless men in sparkly g-strings, others in full leather, feathers fluttering across the floor from a stray feather boa...  
>"Are you alright with him?"<br>She asked, looking to Tristan as he lifted the young man up, cradling him in his arms against his chest, his shirt catching, pulling tight against his body as he stood.  
>"You've lost a button..."<br>Connie said, absently reaching to remove the button that hung on a loose thread, leaving a gaping hole in his shirt, the soft skin beneath just visible. She pushed the button into her pocket and moved to hold the doors open for him.  
>They made their way onto the ward, to cubicle two, the only vacant space.<br>Tristan lowered the boy onto the bed, propping him upright with the pillows whilst Connie adjusted the sheets over his legs to keep him warm. His chest, like so many others, was bare, no visible injuries just the grey smuts of smoke, his face smudged with grit and make up. His lips were bleeding, dribbling blood down his chin. Connie reached for a wipe, dabbing at the blood, checking that it was indeed coming from his lip and not from inside his mouth. Tristan passed her a pair of plastic gloves. She tossed the wipes into the bin, washed the traces of blood from her hands and pulled on the gloves with a sharp snap.  
>"Right..."<br>Connie unravelled her stethoscope from about her neck, paused, then replaced it.  
>"You may do the honours, Dr Cutler."<br>She said, a smile haunting her lips. He raised an eyebrow, hands on his own stethoscope.  
>"Very well..."<br>He answered, placing the cool pad over the boys chest. He listened, and glanced up to the boys face, his eyes rolled and he looked up, exhaling loudly.  
>"Hello..."<br>Tristan stood up, placing a hand against the boys forehead, holding it steady.  
>"Can you hear me?"<br>The boy nodded, swallowed and opened his eyes properly, squinting against the over head strip lighting.  
>"You're in hospital. Can you tell me your name?"<br>Tristan spoke loudly and clearly, aware of his accent.  
>"Oliver. Oliver Lawrence."<br>The boy answered, there was a croak to his voice and the hint of a wheeze.  
>"Hello Oliver, I'm Dr Cutler. I'm just going to give you some oxygen to help with the breathing, OK?"<br>Oliver nodded, watching intently as Tristan attached a mask to an oxygen canister and fixed it over his nose.  
>"Can you tell me if you've got any pain anywhere? "<br>He asked. Oliver shook his head.  
>"Your lips were bleeding, do you remember how that happened?"<br>He asked, Oliver smiled underneath the mask, his breath steaming up the soft clear plastic.  
>"Some guy face fucked me."<br>He wheezed, laughing, looking to Connie, watching the disapproval rise within her eyes, the purse of her lips and the tense of her jaw.  
>"Just some guy...?"<br>Tristan asked, attaching the boy to the heart monitors. He nodded.  
>"£50 for ten minutes...or it would have been if some twat hadn't blown up the place."<br>Oliver murmured, wincing as Tristan inserted a line into the back of his hand.  
>"I'm just going to take some blood..."<br>He said as he inserted the needle.  
>"So you're a sex worker."<br>Connie spoke for the first time since he had regained consciousness, her voice was hard, her arms folded neatly across her chest.  
>"Prostitute? Yeah..."<br>Oliver looked her up and down, a slow smile across his lips.  
>"Can I ask how old you are, Oliver?"<br>Tristan asked, sensing the tension between the boy and Connie.  
>Oliver shrugged.<br>"I can be 16 if they want me to be."  
>He answered non-committally. Tristan raised an eyebrow.<br>"You are aware of the potential danger you are putting yourself in every time you choose to sell your body for sex?"  
>Connie asked, refusing to lower her voice as she spoke. Tristan raised his eyes from Oliver, intrigued by the rage this boy had evoked in her.<br>Oliver laughed again.  
>"Mrs Beauchamp is right. He could have taken advantage of you, attacked you...killed you..."<br>Tristan spoke softly, hoping the severity of his words might make a difference. Instead Oliver just shrugged again.  
>"They all could. In fact I think I fucked a murderer once...saw him on the news the next day."<br>He mused, looking genuinely wistful at the thought.  
>"You had sex with a murderer?!"<br>Connie almost laughed herself, a humourless laugh at this young boys ignorance.  
>"What's the big deal?! He wore a condom."<br>He shook his head, looking down to were Tristan had inserted the needle into his hand.  
>"Well, your school safe sex lecture paid off then..."<br>Tristan sighed as he spoke, raising both of his eyebrows and reaching out for another tube to run more bloods.  
>"So why do you do it?"<br>He asked, distracting Oliver as he inserted the needle again.  
>"I have low self-esteem. I was sexualized at too early an age. It's exciting, fun, and a great way to make non-reportable income."<br>Oliver answered with a sigh.  
>"Fuck!"<br>He jumped as Tristan removed the needle, catching his elbow on the side of the bed and accidentally jogging the needle. Oliver's shout had made him withdraw the needle hurriedly.  
>"On that note..."<br>Tristan pulled off his gloves.  
>"I'm going to get these sent up to the lab, check you over and..."<br>"You'll find traces of drugs..."  
>Oliver cut in, his features vaguely defiant, his jaw set as if expecting more of a reaction than what he got. Tristan merely cleared his throat.<br>"What sort of drugs?"  
>He asked.<br>"Special K...just something my disco pharmacologist cooks up for me."  
>He smirked, biting his bottom lip, tasting blood.<p>"Well, you know you should never take drugs that aren't prescribed by a physician or recommended by a reliable pharmacist."<p>

Tristan held the blood samples against his chest, using his arm to cover the gape in his shirt between his missing buttons.

Oliver laughed.

"What are you, a public service announcement?"  
>He grinned.<br>Tristan glanced at Connie who moved over to the curtain, reaching up and pulling the curtain open as she spoke.  
>"I think we should leave this gentleman to the nursing staff, don't you Dr Cutler?"<br>She asked, stepping out into the ward, her back to Oliver.  
>Tristan followed her, still clutching the bloods.<br>"I'll see you later."  
>He said, nodding to Oliver who smiled an oddly serene smile in response and shifted himself lower in the bed, closing his eyes as Tristan and Connie left.<br>Tristan reached out as they neared the double doors having left the blood samples with Robyn, pulling one door open and holding it for Connie as she passed through.  
>"You're bleeding."<br>Connie noted, stopping midway through the door to point out the small tear in the arm of his shirt. A pin prick of blood from his arm seeping through.  
>"I nicked it when I was doing the bloods and the sod made me jump."<br>He looked down at his shirt.  
>"I don't think we can save this one..."<br>He murmured, pulling at the hole left from his missing button.  
>"Don't tell me you can't sew on a button, Dr Cutler?!"<br>Connie let slip a smile as she spoke, passing through the door, Tristan following her, the door closing behind them with a soft thud.  
>"Ah, there are many things I can do...but that's not one of them."<br>He mused as he followed her along the corridor.  
>She turned to glance at him, removing the button from her pocket and holding it up for him to see.<br>"Follow me."

The office was cold. The window still open, the hint of a frost pricking the air. Connie flicked the light as they entered, the bulb popped and immediately went out. She tutted quietly.  
>"Lamp?"<br>Tristan asked, watching her as she moved across the room, the light from the corridor beyond glowing yellow through the small window that was set into the door.  
>She flicked on the table lamp next to the sofa, it produced just enough light for them to be able to see one another again. A soft deep orange glow that left you blind if you stared too long without blinking.<br>"Sit."  
>Connie murmured, opening the drawer of her desk and leaning down to peer inside, squinting her eyes against the dim light.<br>"Yes Miss..."  
>Tristan smiled as he sat at one end of the sofa, one leg curled underneath himself, arm resting on the arm of the leather sofa so that he faced the space next to him.<br>Connie raised an eyebrow and glanced at him.  
>"Mrs..."<br>She corrected him, finding the reel of surgical thread with her fingers and retrieving it, a needle stuck into it's side.  
>"Mmm..yes, why did you keep the Mrs?"<br>He asked, watching he as she moved over to him, setting herself down in the space next to him, eyes on the task at hand, her fingers deftly unravelling the thread from the reel, wrapping it around her index finger and pulling it so that it snapped.  
>"Did your mother never teach you to sew on a button?"<br>She asked, ignoring his question. He smiled again at her evasion.  
>"She wasn't around much."<br>He spoke quietly as she threaded the needle with deft precision.  
>"Hold still."<br>She breathed, tying a not in the end of the thread and shifting herself towards him, she paused, suddenly very aware of his proximity. He leant back against the arm of the sofa so that his shirt pulled taught about his chest. She fished the button from her pocket and held it in place, fumbling as she did so, realising it impossible to hold the button in place without slipping her fingers beneath the white cotton.  
>She pushed the needle up through the back of the material, it was stiff and the blunt end of the needle pressed hard into the pad of her thumb as she pushed the needle through, her knuckles, try as she might to avoid it, pressed back against his bare chest, she could feel the warmth of his skin and the dark hair that scattered it's surface.<br>"So..."  
>Tristan spoke after a pause, the little conversation they had had seemed to have dispersed. She glanced up at him, pushing the needle back through, being careful not to catch his skin, placing her fingers in-between his cheast and the point of the needle.<br>"So."  
>She repeated, she could feel his body tense as she pushed the back of her hand against his skin.<br>She heard him smile and glanced up at him again. He was smiling, his teeth showing and she noticed how straight they were. How green his eyes were. The lamp behind her catching their colour, setting them ablaze.  
>"I'm sorry..."<br>He said eventually. She looked up, surprised.  
>"Sorry?"<br>She asked, absently pricking her finger.  
>"Guy going over your heard and hiring me without letting you know..."<br>He let his words fade, watching her touch her tongue to the pricked finger before getting back to the button.  
>"Oh, I've known Guy long enough to know that it's not all plain sailing..."<br>She murmured.  
>"Still, it must have been fucking annoying?"<br>He asked, she arced an eyebrow.  
>"Sorry... <em>very <em>annoying. It's the Irish in me you know..."  
>He smiled, biting his bottom lip gently.<br>"I wouldn't know. No Irish in me."  
>She pushed the thread through for the last time, struggling to push it through the hole in the button.<br>"But still...annoying?"  
>He asked. She tied a knot in the string and snapped it off.<br>"Not annoying. I merely doubted the need for another young male doctor...I'm sure Tess would agree with me when I say we desperately need more nursing staff."  
>She answered, diplomatic as ever. He widened his smile, feeling her fingers against his shirt as she did up his button, pressing her fingers against it briefly to flatten it.<br>"Too many males hmm?"  
>He asked, glancing down at her handiwork.<br>"I'm just saying it's a male dominated workplace."  
>She answered, winding the thread back onto the reel and pushing in the needle.<br>"Bollocks!"  
>He watched as she stood, moved over to the desk and placed the reel back into the drawer, closing it with her fingertips.<br>"I've got a few other points you can prove for me if you like?"  
>She mused, looking at him, the hint of amusement glittering behind her eyes and toying with the corners of her lips, teasing her mouth into a downward smile.<br>"It's not male dominated, they're bloody women everywhere!"  
>He winked as he spoke, delighting in the smile that his response provoked in her. She leant against the desk.<br>"Mm, crunching underfoot everywhere you walk. Drink?"  
>She asked, moving silently over to the cabinet by the door.<br>"Please."  
>He nodded and cleared his throat.<br>"Speaking of women underfoot, never pay for a woman to walk on you. It's pointless. Really hurts."  
>He mused, catching her sideways glance.<br>"Gosh...it's like working with Germaine Greer..."  
>She turned to him, drinks in hand.<br>"And oddly enough I haven't experienced that. But thank you for the warning."  
>She added handing him a glass of red wine. She sat down next to him again, leaning back into the soft leather that creaked as her body moulded it.<br>"And I'm surprised you have."  
>She added, feeling his fingers touch against her own as he accepted the glass.<br>"Hmm?"  
>He asked, taking a sip.<br>"I didn't think women were your 'thing'."  
>She said quietly, holding the glass before her lips, taking a sip and watching as he smiled.<br>"Brendan?"  
>He asked. She nodded as she swallowed. "As far as I'm concerned, sexuality is fluid. As far as society is concerned? I suppose I'm bisexual."<br>He answered with the hint of a shrug. Waiting for her reaction. Instead she took another sip and averted her gaze.  
>He rolled the stem of the wine glass between his fingers, the shroud of another tense silence threatening to engulf them once more.<br>"Anyway, I've been meaning to tell you something..."  
>He began, glancing up to see that she was looking at him once more.<br>"What?"  
>She asked, brushing the rim of the glass against her bottom lip. The lamp behind her creating a hale like effect about her head, showing her hair as a blaze of auburn about the shadow of her face.<br>"You look really good in scrubs."  
>His eyes glittered, she failed to quell the smile that fluttered across her lips and her cheeks bloomed a dusky pink. She rolled her eyes.<br>"Are you flirting with me, Dr Cutler?"  
>She asked, tilting he head.<br>"I'm trying!"  
>He rested the wine glass on his knee, the liquid within it lapping against its glass confines.<br>"But I'm not very good..."  
>He added.<br>"I think you're better than you think you are."  
>She smiled, and as she spoke she reached out for his glass, taking it from his grasp and placing it, with her own on the floor at the base of the sofa.<br>She shifted in her place, leaning forward as she had done when she was sewing the button on.  
>He glanced to where she had placed the glasses, unsure as to what was happening. He looked at her, her body seemed to move with the fluidity and agility of a cat. She placed a hand tentatively against his jaw, the coarse stubble catching against the graze of her fingertips.<br>He turned his face against them so that they brushed against his lips. Leaning in closer to her as her fingers back tracked, slipping beneath the collar of his shirt.  
>She paused just before their lips touched, grazing a corner of his mouth, her other hand against his thigh, the heat of it making his muscle tense. She kissed him gently, once, felt his hands against her hips, her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back.<br>"I thought you were hard to get..."  
>He murmured against her, his lips pressed against her own so that he could feel the smile that played there.<br>"I'm not hard to get."  
>She whispered.<br>"I'm hard to keep."  
><strong>More very soon. xxx<strong>  
> <p>


	19. Chapter 19

He kissed her fingertips, encased them in his own hands, his thumb pressed against the palm of her hand so that her fingers curled, her arms held above her head.  
>She pushed herself against him, arching her back against the warmth of the leather sofa, pressing her hips against his own. The weight of him on top of her pinned her down so that she lay flat against the sofa.<br>He lowered his head, lips brushing the tumble of hair that lay splayed about her face. He kissed her lips, his tongue touching against her own. He tasted of peppermint. She pulled against his hands but his grip tightened, one hand holding both of hers above her head, the other at her side, his thumb against her hip, fingers searching the waist line of her skirt, but patience evaded him and instead he ran his hand across her thigh to the hem of her skirt, slipping his fingers beneath, pushing the fabric so that it bunched about her waist.  
>She curled her legs either side of him so that he rested between her thighs. He paused, breaking the kiss to look down upon her.<br>He remained silent, his lips parted, catching his breath.  
>He pushed his fingers further up, just touching against her thigh, watching as her chest began to rise and fall just that little bit quicker, her eyes were heavy and through his shirt he could feel the pulse of her heartbeat against his own.<br>She felt his hand move again, leaving her for the briefest of moments, the almost silent grate of his zip being undone before his fingers touched her again, nudging away her underwear.  
>He loosened his grip on her wrists as he pushed into her, watching intently at how her body responded, her head rolled back against the leather, only the slight hint of a grunt, a gasp as her legs tightened about him, pulling him closer as her eyes rolled back, closing, a frown of concentration creasing her forehead.<br>"Fuck..."  
>She whispered.<br>"See, now you know what it's like to have a bit of the Irish in you."  
>He breathed, his voice strained as he held himself above her, moving ever so slowly against her.<br>She frowned again, only opening her eyes briefly to acknowledge his words.  
>"You're funny..."<br>She whispered, her lips bumping against his.  
>"Yeah?"<br>He kissed her.  
>"Must be a trick of the light."<br>He spoke against her lips before touching his tongue against her own, kissing her hard.  
>She pushed her fingers against his shoulder blades, pulling him closer , her nails digging in through his shirt leaving little half-moon indents against his skin before moving her hand down, her fingers cold, slipping them down to his chest, deftly fingering each button until his shirt hung open. She caught the glimpse of a tattoo, maybe more than one. But she had little time to think more of it because he pushed into her again, harder this time and his body pressed so tightly against her own that she felt her breathe be pushed from her body. She bucked against him, holding him there, her legs tightening around him, trying to regain some sort of control.<br>He manoeuvred her with the ease of practise, pushing her legs back against the sofa. She bit gently against the bare skin of his shoulder to stop herself from making a noise. Feeling herself give in to him, and the rhythm that he created so effortlessly. She let her head fall back against the leather, her eyes closed and his mouth, hot and wet against her neck, she allowed herself to be taken by him.

Morning crept through the open window, a cool yellow light that slipped silently across the room bringing daylight with it's long fingers.  
>A clang from outside woke her, she opened her eyes, for a moment she stared up at the ceiling, an unfamiliar ceiling. She was still in her office. She sat up quicker than she should have, her head swam, dizziness rose black within her eyes and she let her head fall forwards, regaining composure before shifting her legs from the sofa, her muscles stiff, her foot knocking the glasses that stood on the floor, knocking red wine across the cream carpet.<br>She inhaled slowly, shivering against the breeze, rubbing a hand across her eyes, collecting herself.  
>"Connie?"<br>She jumped at the voice, her breath catching in her chest so hard that she half-choked against the sharp intake of air.  
>Max was at the window, just visible from the chest up. Hard hat casting a shadow across his face.<br>"What time is it?!"  
>She exclaimed, standing up, again knocking against the wine glasses. Her hands moving to the hem of her skirt, shifting it, smoothing it down against her thighs.<br>"Nine...ish?"  
>Max answered, suppressing an amused smile.<br>"No time for tea then?"  
>He asked, raising the lid of his flask as he spoke.<br>She frowned, what on earth must she look like?!  
>"No!..no..."<br>She bent down to pick up the wine glasses.  
>"Heavy night?"<br>He asked, watching her.  
>She held both wine glasses in one hand and felt with the other hand along the buttons of her shirt to check that they were all done up.<br>"No..."  
>She repeated, placing the wine glasses on the desk and glancing about the room for her shoes.<br>"Max, I haven't really got time..."  
>She breathed, reaching for her bag and setting it down on the desk, fishing out her phone, it flashed momentarily. 9:07AM. Before the battery died and the phone went flat.<br>She exhaled loudly and let the phone fall onto the desk, placing two fingers against the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes.  
>"Does it still count as the walk of shame if you never left the office?"<br>He asked. She glanced down at her clothes. Someone would notice she was wearing the same outfit as yesterday, and even if they didn't, her skirt was wrinkled so that it stretched and stuck out oddly at the hem and her shirt was creased.  
>She ran a hand through her hair.<br>"I haven't got anything else to wear!"  
>Her voice rose more than she had intended it to. Where was Tristan?! She felt her head begin to ache. Already the pressure of the day was beginning to build immeasurably.<br>"Scrubs?"  
>Offered Max, taking a sip of his tea.<br>She turned to him, irritation giving way to the realisation that that wasn't a bad idea.  
>"I can't go onto the ward looking like this..."<br>She gestured to her clothes.  
>"Would you...?"<br>She asked tentatively. He rolled his eyes dramatically and refilled the cup he held full of strong tea.  
>"Drink this. I'll be back in a sec."<br>He breathed, sighing playfully as if put out.  
>"You owe me."<br>He added before disappearing, leaving the mug on the window ledge. She took it, her hands were still cold, she let them warm against the blue plastic before taking a sip.  
>She sat down at the desk, reaching back into the bag with one hand for her compact, flicking it open, pausing briefly to ready herself before looking at her reflection.<br>It wasn't as bad as she had expected, her make up was worn away somewhat but not smudged as she had imagined, and her hair, though messy had the all too fashionable bed head look about it. She ran her fingers through it and tied it in a loose pony tail at the nape of her neck before twisting it into a bun and placing another band around it to hold it there before using a wipe to clean away yesterdays make up ready for the make up of today.  
>Max tapped on her door just as she was applying the last of her eye-liner.<br>He held the scrubs out to her.  
>"The looks I got..."<br>He smiled. She took them from him, her fingers brushing his own.  
>"I hope you didn't say where you were taking them?"<br>She spoke quietly as she unfolded the green materiel.  
>"Nope. Got any antibacterial gel?"<br>He asked, looking about the room. She frowned.  
>"Under the sink. Why?"<br>She asked.  
>"I'll get that stain out for you."<br>He nodded to the reed wine that pooled like drying blood at the foot of the sofa.  
>"I've got to get changed..."<br>She began. He glanced at her, kneeling down in front of the cabinet under the sink.  
>"I won't look."<br>He shrugged, leaning into the cupboard to peer at the various products and hidden bottles of wine.  
>She paused, unsure of what to make of the situation. She seemed still to be in some sort of dream state.<br>After a moment, watching Max intently, she began to undress as quickly as she could without seeming ungainly. She pulled on the scrubs, shivering against the cool material.  
>One queue Max stood up, spirigel and a scrubbing brush in hand.<br>"Wow."  
>He grinned that wide even grin that he had.<p>

**"**What?"

She breathed, the fact that she wasn't sure of the time irritating her further.

"You look..."

**"**Good? Bad? Laughable?"

She cut in, adjusting the label at the back of her neck where it had caught in her hair.

**"No...**Beautiful."  
>He said simply.<br>"You go and do whatever life-saving you've got to do. I'll get rid of this."  
>He continued, seemingly slightly embarrassed by his own compliment.<br>"You don't have to do that..."  
>She began, moving to the door.<br>He knelt down onto floor where the stain was.  
>"Shush. Go!"<br>He ushered her out with a wave of the scrubbing brush.  
>"You can make it up to me when you get back."<br>**More very soon xxx**


	20. Chapter 20

The ward was warm, the heating on full blast for the first time that year. October was fast approaching and the hint of a winters nip in the air teased at the end of autumn.

Connie stood at the nurses station, hidden from view by the notice board. She thumbed her way through various patients notes ,looking for Justin's. She could hear Robyn speaking in a loud whisper somewhere on the opposite side of the notice board.

"I heard he spent the night with that blonde from ENT. Sarah something?"

Robyn whispered her voice full of the guilty delight of fresh gossip.

"What, Dr Cutler?!"

Another voice asked, a lower whisper.

"Yeah. I saw them myself this morning. She was parking when I arrived and he was in the car with her. You know Sarah? Blonde Sarah?"

Their whispering was muffled by the sound of a bed being wheeled passed. Connie strained to hear but by the time the trolley had moved by Robyn and whoever she was speaking to had moved further away and she could no longer hear them.

She pushed the Biro that she held against her mouth, unsure of what to make of the gossip. She hadn't noticed a wedding ring...

She recalled the previous evening, how charming he had appeared, how gentle he was. Had she just been a one night stand? All of a sudden she felt as though she had lost the upper hand. She had been taken for a fool. He had pulled the wool over her eyes, lied to her, seduced her.

She caught sight of him on the other side of the ward. He wore the same trousers as yesterday, the same shoes, but like her he wore a green scrub top, she assumed, because yesterdays was, like her own clothes, unwearable.

He looked up as he stopped, fumbling with something in his pocket.

He raised his free hand briefly in a wave. She remained still, but averted her gaze. She knew he would have to pass her to exit the ward, she could feel his presence nearing.

She looked up.

"Morning..."

He spoke. Even the innocence of his greeting was laced with the indecency of last night, a memory now becoming sordid in her mind.

"Dr Cutler."

She murmured, looking back to the notes that she held.

He cocked his head, frowning slightly.

"Everything ok?"

He asked, lowering his voice.

She looked up, lips pursed.

"Why would you think otherwise?"

She asked curtly. He raised an eyebrow.

"You just seem a bit...off?"

He reached out a hand to her but she side stepped his touch, placing the notes in between the two of them.

"Oh-kay..."

He inhaled loudly.

"What have I done wrong?"

He asked.

She flicked the corner of the green cardboard that encased Justin's notes with her thumb.

"It's not my place to comment on your personal life, Dr Cutler, but when it affects work, when my nursing staff are gossiping about whoever it was you stayed with last night..."

"Ah..."

He clapped his hands together, she tailed off, leaving the rest of her sentence unspoken as Charlie squeezed behind her to pass through onto the ward.

"Ok..."

He exhaled much as he had inhaled.

"I just want to say that some people have got the wrong idea, so, just to clarify : I did stay at a member of staff's house last night, after I was with you..."

"A female, member of staff?"

Connie cut in, holding the notes so tightly against her chest that her knuckles showed white through her skin.

"A female member of staff..yes. But nothing happened. I was going to book into a hotel..."

He lowered his voice again as Charlie reappeared.

"Can I stop you there?"

She asked, turning sharply on her heel and moving to the double doors to exit out into the corridor. She heard the soft slap of his boots against the floor following behind her.

"So, if anybody mentions it, I'd be grateful if you, if you'd, er, put them straight."

He sounded breathless, struggling to keep up with her as she passed through the doors.

"It really is nothing to do with me."

She smiled as she spoke, her eyes winced with irritation.

"No, well, it sort of is, but if anybody does mention it..."

She stopped abruptly so that he had to rise sharply onto his toes to stop himself from colliding with her.

"Why do you think I'm interested? 

She asked, her voice a hissed whisper.

"I never said you'd be interested...but..."

"Then why bore me with all the details?"

She laughed, beginning her quick pace along the corridor once more.

"Don't be so bloody rude!"

He hissed, quickening his pace.

"Look. I have a job to do. I'm not interested in your personal life; if that offends you; if it bothers you, then I apologise. Staff at your previous hospital might have found you totally fascinating. I don't."

Connie stopped again, her hand on the door to her office, fingers curled about the handle, poised to open it.

"Well, If anything, that's an increase in rudeness."

Tristan placed his hands on his hips, watching her hand.

"Ah, well I hope no one starts gossiping about me, because I hate being the centre of attention."

She snapped, her lip curled.  
>"That's not fair!"<p>

He exclaimed, reaching out a hand again, but she shrugged it off.

"I really don't care. It's only 11AM and I'm already sick of hearing about you and '_blonde Sarah f_rom ENT', and your night of passion, or non-passion."

She inhaled, struggling to catch her breath.  
>"So people have been talking? By the way, nothing happened. It's not like that..."<p>

Connie rolled her eyes, too tired, her pride too dented to listen.

"People have been talking, and not concentrating on their jobs. Do your job, Doctor Cutler, keep your personal life personal, and allow my staff to concentrate on their work. I think there's enough soap operas set in hospitals, don't you?"

She asked, pushing down on the handle and stepping into the office.

"Nothing happened!"

She heard him exclaim as she closed the door on him, a muffled thump as he kicked the wall. She rested back against the door. Max stood with his back to her, facing the window, his head pressed against the pane of glass.

She exhaled, relaxing her fingers that were balled up into fists at her sides.

"What was that about?"

He asked, not turning.

She yawned into the back of her hand. She glanced to the sofa, the stain was gone.

He turned when she failed to reply. A screw driver in one hand.

"Your phone is on charge."

He pointed the screwdriver to her phone which sat illuminated on her desk. A charger she didn't recognise plugged into the wall socket.

She looked at him. His black jumper spattered with white paint, his hair powdered with chalky dust.

"Thank you ."

She whispered.

He twisted the screw driver between his thumb and forefinger, just looking at her.

"I'll have the window fixed for you later."

He said quietly, glancing back at it.

"Thank you."

She whispered again.

He dipped his head, unsure of what to say next.

With another sigh she began to move across the room, the chill from the window sending goose bumps across her bare forearms.

She stopped, only inches from him, she could see the heads of the scaffolders down below, could smell the sour smell of their paint and could hear the murmur of their words.

She placed a hand about the screwdriver, removing it from his grasp and setting it on the window ledge.

"What are you doing?"

He asked, looking to where the screwdriver rested, threatening to roll out over the sill.

She whispered, touching her fingers against his chin, her fingertips brushing his bottom lip, tripping and falling to his chest where they tugged gently on the wool of his jumper, just pulling hard enough to ease him closer.

"I'm saying thank you."

She said as she kissed him.

**More Max very soon...thank you so much for the lovely reviews, I am usually woken up between 4 and 5 AM by my toddlers . Reading the comments you leave certainly make early mornings less difficult! Thank youxxx**


	21. Chapter 21

He tasted of cigarettes. A taste she'd long forgotten, a taste she usually found repugnant, but today, now, she found it tantalisingly alluring. She could smell it,in his hair, on his clothes, the bitter scent of tobacco and the heat of his body despite the cold.

She pulled away, just enough to be able to focus upon him. When she had first kissed him he had frozen still, unsure of how to react, but he had relaxed, had kissed her back with surprising force.

And now when she looked at him her lipstick stained his lips, his face was lowered ever so slightly but his eyes were raised to hers.

"I'm waiting for you to say that was a mistake..."

He whispered quickly. She smiled, the tension that held her body tight began to subside.

She shook her head slightly.

"Not a mistake...no. A welcome relief."

She murmured, resting her palm against his chest, she could feel the coarse wool against her fingers, gnarled and spattered with paint. She ran her index finger over a smooth ball of it that had hardened against the wool.

"Well. I can't say I've ever been called that before..."

Max shifted under her touch, seemingly flustered by her close proximity.

She let her hand drop slowly, hesitating at it's hem, her thumb grazing the cool metal of his belt, her face edging closer to his.

The office door opened. A sharp click and thrust and the two of them moved apart leaving both stunned, guilt twitching at Connie's lips as she glanced up. Tristan was standing in the doorway, his hand still on the handle, just looking at Max, his expression unreadable.

Connie pressed her hands together, she could still feel the heat of Max's chest against them.

"Dr Cutler?"

Her voice cracked as she spoke and she cleared her throat.

Tristan turned his attention to her, still his face a glacial picture of togetherness and normality.

"Really?!"

Was all he said, his face contorting with disbelief, refusing to look back at Max who stood against the window, a hand placed to his chest where Connie's had been moments before.

"Was there something you wanted, Dr Cutler?"

Connie asked, she had steadied her voice, regained her calm.

"I wanted to show you something. But clearly you are busy."

He looked to Max again.

"What was it?"

She asked, her hands cooling, as she spoke a small round face peered around the door frame. Tristan followed her gaze.

"This."

He said, pointing with both fingers to the little boy.

"This. He...is what I wanted to show you."

He said, looking back to her. She paused.

"Is he lost?"

She asked, not following.

"No, he's my son!"

Tristan arched an eyebrow.

"Oh..."

Connie mouthed, looking between the two of them. The small boy shared his fathers even features and thick dark hair.

"I was going to explain. About earlier? And we...he was going to ask you something."

He added, the little boy pulling on his shirt that gradually untucked from his jeans as he pulled.

Connie glanced to Max who stood, unmoving, and for a moment she worried he had been holding his breath because there wasn't even the obvious movement of his chest beneath his clothes.

"I...get the hint."

He spoke quietly, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"I'll just..."

He nodded in the direction of the door, moving to the doorway and passing Tristan who stepped out of the way, averting his gaze as he left.

"Come in."

Connie breathed, sitting herself down on the edge of her desk, watching as Tristan and his son entered, the door pulled shut behind them.

"Well?"

She asked when Tristan failed to speak.

He puffed out a breath, still his eyes lingered where Max had been.

"I just, I just wanted to explain about earlier, last night? Sarah is Ned's mum. We were together years ago..."

He paused and looked down at his son.

"She never met the 'one', or anyone she wanted to spend her life with, but she desperately wanted children so she asked me to..."

He paused again, searching for the right way to word what he had to say, glancing again to Ned who must only have been five or six.

"I understand."

Connie said quickly, waving a hand for him to continue.

"Well I hadn't got anywhere to stay. I was going to book into a hotel but when I bumped into Sarah she said I could stay at hers, spend some time with him."

He squeezed Ned's shoulder, his hand, which had been against her naked skin only hours previously looked so large, so protective on that little boys shoulder.

Connie pursed her lips. She wasn't often wrong. She exhaled slowly and looked to Ned.

"And what did he want to ask me?"

She whispered.

Ned looked up at his father, wide-eyed. Tristan shrugged then nodded with a sigh.

"Please can we have you for dinner?"

Ned asked, his eyes so round with the dampness of innocence. Connie bit her lip against a smile.

"Would you _like _to come _over _for dinner, not can we _have _you for dinner. We are not cannibals, Ned."

Tristan glanced at her, his cheeks flushed, his hand squeezing again at the little boys shoulder.

"I promise we're not cannibals."

He whispered.

"What's a cannibal?"

Ned asked. Tristan rolled his eyes.

"Ask your mother."

He whispered, nudging him.

He looked to Connie.

"Well?"

He asked. She rubbed her thumb across the side of her other hand, somewhat relieved as a sharp knock on the door sounded. Relieved to have the interruption.

Tess popped her head around the door.

"Oh you're both here!"

She looked at Ned with fleeting interest.

"I've got Brendan Kinney in reception he only wants to be treated by Dr Cutler."

She looked to Connie.

"And Justin Phelps's results are back."

Connie stood up from the desk.

"We'll be right there. Have you got someone to look after Ned?"

She looked to Tristan who in turn looked to Tess.

"You haven't got a break coming up have you?"

He asked. Tess rolled her eyes and entered the room fully.

"Don't be long."

She sighed, smiling down at Ned who looked mildly alarmed at being suddenly left. Tristan nudged him on the shoulder.

"Back in a bit sonny boy."

He said, following Connie from the room.

**More soon! More Max too nobody panic ;) xxx**


	22. Chapter 22

"I didn't know you had a son."

Tristan shrugged, keeping in step with Connie as they entered the ward. He glanced at her.

"Why would you?"

He asked. She glanced back at him but remained silent. They passed through the ward into reception where Brendan was waiting.

"Mr Kinney!"

Tristan addressed the other man as he stood from his chair, his movements stiff and his lip bleeding.

"What happened to you?"

He asked, peering at him. Brendan rolled his brown eyes.

"Justin's so called Father decided to show me what a real man should be."

He muttered, his speech muffled through his fat lip.

"If you follow us Mr Kinney we'll take a look at you."

Connie reached out an arm, gesturing for him to follow her, aware of the stares and backward glances they were receiving from the other patients who littered the reception area.

Brendan followed them slowly, his right hand pressed against his side.

They moved into the ward, Connie tossing the curtain aside of the first available cubicle and closing it back around them.

She made to help him up onto the bed but he wafted a hand at her.

"I'm fine."

He groaned as he lifted himself up onto the bed, his legs bent at the knee, too painful to lay flat.

"Do you know where Mr Phelps is now?"

Connie asked, slipping on a pair of latex gloves.

Brendan shrugged.

"Hiding from the pigs I assume."

He coughed, wincing against the pain in his chest.

"Pigs?"

Connie asked, reaching over and unbuttoning his shirt.

"...the pigs..."

Brendan looked at her as though she were mad, wincing again as she pressed against his ribcage, a blue black bruise already showing through the mottled skin.

"The same pigs that have hair on their chinny-chin-chins and don't let wolves into their homes?"

Tristan asked.

Brendan smirked despite the pain.

"You haven't changed."

He hissed, tensing as Connie moved her fingers against his ribs.

"Sadly not."

Tristan answered.

Connie stepped back.

"Ok, Mr Kinney I think you have two, possibly three fractured ribs but we will need to send you up to X-Ray just to make sure. Do you have any pain anywhere else?"

She asked. He shook his head.

"Just the lip."

He added, tasting blood against his teeth.

She reached out and touched the wound gently.

"How is Justin?"

He asked, trying not to move his lips as he spoke.

Connie stepped back again and placed a hand on the dividing curtain between the two cubicles.

"You can ask him yourself."

She said quietly, pulling the curtain back to reveal the next bed. Justin was dozing against the pillow, a pad of paper and a scattering of chocolate bar wrappers in his lap. He awoke at the sound of the curtain being drawn back, taking a moment to realise who was in the bed next to him.

"Christ, Brendan what happened to you?!"

He whispered, his blue eyes round, his mouth hung open.

"Doesn't matter. How many of those have you had?!"

Brendan winced as he turned himself, changing the subject, his eyes falling to the wrappers on Justin's covers.

Justin followed his gaze.

"Do you know the number of carbs in those things, not to mention the calories?"

Brendan asked, Connie watched him, a glimmer of amusement within his cool brown eyes.

**"**So I'll burn them off."

Justin shrugged. Brendan rolled his eyes.

"You'd have to go up in flames."

He murmured, coughing a dry hacking cough that made his ribs feel as though they were cracking beneath his hand. With one final cough his choked. Connie moved quickly, pushing him up into a sitting position, forcing his head forward even though he strained against it until he finally coughed up a plug of congealed blood into the cardboard bowl that Tristan had positioned in his lap.

Brendan spat into the bowl, a thin spider web of blood that dangled briefly from his lip before stretching until it snapped.

"Fuck what was that?!"

He exclaimed, touching his finger to where his lip was bleeding fresh blood.

"Dr Cutler could you arrange for Mr Kinney to be transferred for an emergency CT scan please."

Connie instructed, looking to Tristan and then to Brendan who was still fingering his wound.

"Mr Kinney you may have suffered some internal injuries. Dr Cutler will arrange for you to have a scan. Once we know what we're dealing with..."

"I only want him to treat me."

Brendan interrupted her, his usual debonair exterior faltering for a moment, a wild eyed expression taking its place.

Connie looked slightly taken aback at his abruptness.

"Dr Cutler and myself will continue with your treatment once we know the full extent of your injuries."

She assured him.

"Is he going to be alright?"

Justin spoke quietly. His face pale.

"Mr Kinney will receive the best possible treatment..."

"He'll be fine."

Tristan cut her off, his voice low, comforting in a way that Connie found so difficult to muster within herself.

Tristan placed a hand on Justin's forearm.

"He'll be back before you know it."


	23. Chapter 23

"I don't know how you do it, working all day, fucking all night."

Tristan spoke as he moved about the bed, complimenting Connie's actions, seemingly having no need for her instruction as they re-attached the monitors to Brendan who had been wheeled back down to the ward.

"Well they say in the vast emptiness of space, the faster you move, the slower you age. I have to believe the same holds true for Holby."

Brendan answered, watching the two of them.

"You two known each other long?"

He asked, watching both Tristan and Connie with interest.

Connie looked up from what she was doing, finger momentarily poised over a button on the BP machine.

Tristan tossed her a wink.

"All of two days."

He answered, setting out a bowl and several orbs of cotton wool ready for Connie to use on Brendan's lip which had split open again.

"Two days?!"

Brendan asked, laughing despite the pain in his chest.

"Watching you two is like watching a fucking dance! You both seem to know what the other is about to do next..."

He cocked his head, regarding Tristan with amusement.

"You fucked didn't you?"

He laughed again, a fist pushed into his side to quell the pain.

"Can I remind you both that this is a hospital not a high school play ground?"

Connie lowered her voice as she spoke, her words only interrupted by the soft push of the curtain and Justin was wheeled back into the bay next to him.

"Where've you been?"

Brendan asked, turning his attention to the blonde.

"Bathroom."

He answered, his voice strained against a yawn that he smothered with the back of his hand.

"Is he ok?"

Justin asked, looking up at Connie who moved to take hold of the little dish Tristan had set out for her.

"I'm fine."

Brendan answered instead.

"What've you been drawing?"

He asked, gesturing to the notepad that still lay at the foot of the bed. Justin leant forwards, pushing it towards his fingers with his toe.

He turned it over.

"You."

He showed the picture to them, a fine pencil drawing of Brendan lounging, naked and asleep against the negative space.

Tristan smirked.

"It was never that big!"

He laughed, averting his eyes, catching the discomfort in Connie's expression.

"Fuck you! You haven't seen it in a long time."

Brendan nudged him with his knee, jutting it out from the side of the bed so that it knocked Tristan against his thigh. He smiled again.

"I haven't seen _Gone With the Wind _in a long time either but I know it's still 3 and a half hours long."  
>He hit his hand softly against Brendan's knee.<br>"Fuck you..."  
>Brendan laughed again, his voice a whisper.<br>The curtain was drawn back again, this time tentatively. Mrs Phelps appeared, hands still wrung in front of her, her face pinched and pale.  
>"Mum?"<br>Justin placed his pad of paper face down again.  
>"Justin, your father and I want to talk to you..."<br>She looked over at where Connie, Tristan and Brendan were gathered, her eyes settling on Brendan and his bloody lip.  
>"I'm sorry."<br>She whispered.  
>Brendan shook his head. "What are you saying sorry for?"<br>Justin asked, looking from his mum to Brendan who widened his eyes only slightly at Mrs Phelps who looked slightly flustered. She glanced at her son.  
>"Your father...he just lost his temper..."<br>She held her clenched hands up to her mouth, pressing her lips against them.  
>"<em>He <em>did that to you?"  
>Justin looked to Brendan, a look of pure disgust within his eyes, his lips curled. Brendan rolled his eyes.<br>"Why didn't you tell me?!"  
>Justin asked, folding his arms across his chest about the drawing that he held tightly against himself.<br>Brendan ran his index finger across the nail of his thumb, drawing in a breath and sighing.  
>"Because it wouldn't change anything, would it? You don't need that guilt, and you already know your dad's not going to accept you for who you are, so don't let it get to you, okay?"<br>He looked over at Justin, eyebrows raised.  
>"Aren't you going to tell the police?"<br>Justin asked. Brendan shook his head slightly.  
>"I told him I'd call the gays."<br>He shrugged, raising his thumb to his lips to bit off a hang nail.  
>"Which gays?"<br>Mrs Phelps asked, her face paling again. Brendan smirked.  
>"Well all of them!"<br>He bit his bottom lip to suppress a smile.  
>"The thing you have to understand about the gays, is that we're probably more scared of you than you are of us."<br>He added, cocking his head, watching as Mrs Phelps began to flush a dusky pink.

"Look..."

she whispered.

"I'm not, we're not...your father and I, we're not..homophobic..."

Sha glanced about the room. Connie's eyes were lowered, Brendan's notes splayed out in her hand, Tristan stood, arms folded tightly about his chest, his jaw set, just watching.

"Oh no?"

Tristan asked looking somewhat amused. Connie looked up.

"Dr Cutler..."

she warned.

"what!?"

He exclaimed.

"Its ok I just want to explain!" mrs phelps said quickly. Connie raised an eyebrow.

"But, uh... Look, when Justin came home and he told me that he was gay... I mean, I around to it but... You know, at first there would be a reaction and... I'm sorry, I'm just trying to be honest, alright?"

She looked about the room for reassurance.

****_"_An honest homophobe, how nice."

Tristan murmured. Connie cleared her throat loudly.**  
><strong>"Dr Cutler this isn't your argument."

She breathed, her voice level and cool.**  
>"<strong>No, I... I understand, Mrs Phelps, and I'm sorry, as Mrs Beauchamp says this isn't my argument. I mean, you find gay sex repulsive and you don't care about your son's personal happiness as much as you do for your own comfort level. Right? For Justin to live his life with your support then he has to deny who he is, what he thinks, and how he feels? Yes?"

He paused, Mrs Phelps looked wide eyed.

"I'm sorry Mrs Beauchamp but I've been there. And trust me, kid yourself all you want."

He looked again at Mrs Phelps.

"But that's not love, that's hate."

**More soon x I apologise in advance for any long delays. Please don't think I've forgotten the story, I haven't. I'm currently taking part in NaNoWriMo, writing pieces for competition entries AND (most importantly) organising Christmas presents for my children, I've decided to make most of the presents this year so I'm up to my eye balls in fabric, ribbons, buttons etc. But I will catch up, and I hope you're all still enjoying it as much as I am enjoying writing it :) xxx**


	24. Chapter 24

There was a hiss of muffled voices outside and the curtain billowed briefly, Mr Phelps appearing, pulling the curtain tightly shut behind him. His face was flushed and wet with perspiration despite the winter chill. He was puffed up like a fat turkey and white spit crested at the corners of his lips as he looked from Justin to Brendan who had visibly tensed as he entered the room.

Connie stepped forward.

"Mr Phelps, I think that it may be best if you and your wife stay in the relatives room for now."

She spoke quietly and calmly, her jaw set firmly, her hand raised to usher them from the room.

Mr Phelps shook his head. He pointed a fat finger at his son.

"We're sending him away."

He said, breathless with anger.

"So _you _can't get your hands on him."

He pointed to Brendan with the same trembling finger. Brendan merely raised his eyebrows.

"We're sending you to boarding school. You can come home at the weekends and for the holidays."

His father barked, his voice strained.

Justin pressed his hand against his forehead, shaking his head in baffled disbelief.

"Please..."

Mrs Phelps moved towards her husband but he raised a hand sharply to stop her.

"No. I've had enough of this!"

He looked to Justin again.

"It's about time you learned some discipline. How to be a real man."

He puffed out his chest as if he considerd himself to be a fine, shining example of what a real man should be.

"I know all about discipline!"

Justin scoffed, almost laughing.

"And you should see me take it like a man..."

He added, his voice low. His fathers face turned a purplish colour and Connie instinctively watched his chest to make sure that he was still breathing.

There was an odd pause before finally something snapped within him and he slapped Justin square across the cheek leaving a perfect pink hand mark against his skin.

"Justin!"

Mrs Phelps stagged forward towards her son but Justin rolled his eyes.

"It's alright, it didn't hurt."

He regarded his father, head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed as if trying to figure him out.

"If you want to hit me, go right ahead. Only I'm not going to cry like some little faggot. And if you want to send me away to school then that's alright too. Because I bet more butt-fucking goes on in boarding school than in the back room of some night club. But whatever you do, it's not going to matter. Because I will still be your queer son."

He spoke calmly, in a voice oddly more suited to church than an argument.

His father puffed up once again, seeming to balloon in size before he turned away, pushing the curtain back firmly and leaving without a glance back or a single word. Mrs Phelps shuffled for a moment, whispering unheard apologies and glancing to her son before turning too and rushing after her husband.

Everyone within the cubicles seemed to exhale all at once. Connie looked to Tristan who raised both eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks, exhaling slowly.

"Nice chap."

He said simply, making to reach out to close the curtain back again but Rita rushed over, hailing him to stop. She paused just outside the cubicles.

"Mrs Beauchamp could I speak to you for a moment please?"

She asked, her face flushed, she was obviously busy.

Connie side stepped around the end of Brendan's bed, stepping just out of ear shot of Tristan and the cubicles.

"What is it?"

She asked, looking to the notes that Rita held.

"That young boy Oliver you were treating from the crash?"

She gestured with the notes.

"Just got his results back, three broken ribs and a fractured sternum. He's also tested positive for HIV..."

She lowered her voice as she spoke. Connie sighed.

"He's so young..."

She whispered. Rita nodded.

"I know...I don't know if he has any familyi but I thought as you were treating him you might like to tell him?"

She payused.

"Well..not like..."

Connie smiled slightly.

"I'll tell him."

She said simply, reaching out a hand for the notes which Rita passed her before moving quickly back to the nurses station.

Connie thumbed the notes, flicking them open to the scan results, as she did so the cardboard of the front page caught on the plaster that she had wrapped about her finger. She pulled it free, making to readjust it. All of a sudden she felt her stomach lurch, a sudden, sharp stab of nausea bubbled up within her. She just looked at the plaster, her lips dry and parted, her breath shallow. She'd cut herself prior to treating Oliver, she'd washed away his blood from his lip before Tristan had passed her the gloves. She had had Oliver's blood on her hands when she had washed them.

She felt light headed. She looked up sharply, blinking against the over head strip light. Whether she was going to cry or vomit she wasn't sure.

The curtain fluttered next to her, Tristan leant out, only his upper body and one leg visible, his sleeves rolled up over his forearms.

"Everything...ok?"

He asked.

She failed to reply, her eyes resting on the plaster that he himself had over the cut that he had sustained when the needle full of Oliver's blood had caught him.

"Connie?"

He asked, taking a step nearer. She was an odd grey-white, her eyes so wide, her body so still.

"You need to come with me."

She whispered.

**More very soon! xxx**


	25. Chapter 25

"Fuck."

Tristan stood in the centre of her office. His hands hung loosely by his sides, his jaw slack, his face grey. Connie stood opposite, her fingertips just touching the top of her desk. She could feel her knee caps trembling beneath her tights.

"Fuck."

He hissed again, finally moving, raising an arm, pushing his fingers into his hair, running them down his forehead and pushing his fingers against his closed eyes.

"I didn't even think..."

He whispered. She shook her head.

"Everyone makes mistakes...or so I've heard..."

She murmured, her voice thick, her mouth dry. He looked at her across the short distance between them.

"This is a pretty big fucking mistake, Connie?!"

He sucked in a breath and began to pace, one of his shoes squeaked as he walked back and forth.

"We'll have to be tested..."

She whispered. Her chin trembled as she spoke and she bit her bottom lip hard to stop it. He pushed his hands into his pockets and stopped in front of the window, looking through the slatted blind to the busy corridor beyond.

"What are you going to do?"

He asked in such a quiet voice that she struggled to hear him over the throbbing inside of her head.

She licked her lips, though they dried immediately and became irritatingly sticky.

"I don't..."

Her voice cracked, disappeared and tailed off, she clapped her arms by her sides, helpless.

He pursed his lips, still watching the people passing by.

"So I suppose you'll have to suspend us both until we hear..."

He breathed. Out of the corner of his eye he caught her nod of affirmation. He sucked in another breath to clear his head before he turned back to her. He caught the glitter of tears shining within her eyes. She pursed her lips, a struggled smile and she turned her face downward, not knowing quite where to look.

There was a soft tap at the window, and only upon hearing it did Connie realise that Max had fixed it. The window was closed again, there was no icy draft any more.

"It's your scaffold-er."

Tristan said without moving. Connie squeezed her eyes shut briefly, unable to turn or move from the spot.

"Can you tell him I can't...not now...?"

She whispered, her throat was so clenched from holding back the tears that it physically hurt to speak.

Tristan looked to the window again. He met Max's eyes, saw him nod to Connie, a frown across his forehead, clearly wanting to know if she was ok.

Instead Tristan looked away, turned his back, made his way to the door and without a word left the room, the door clicking shut firmly behind him.

Max knocked again.

Connie tightened her fingers on the back of the chair that she held, head bent. She heard him call her name, his voice muffled through the glass and he tapped again with the back of his hand.

She inhaled, steadying herself, swallowing against the solid ball that ached within her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly before turning to face him through the window. She hesitated, flexing her fingers. He cocked his head, the glass was beginning to fog up from his breath and dribbles of condensation skittered down the outside of the pane.

She opened the window slowly, pushing it, it squeaked loudly as it moved on the hinges.

"Are you alright?"

He asked after a moments pause.

She kept her eyes lowered, her bottom lip sucked in, her teeth pressed hard into it. She shook her head, her chin wobbled and a tear fell to the floor as she blinked, her face threatening to crumple, her fingers resting on the cool white of the window sill.

In one slightly jarring movement he pushed himself up through the open window, as he had done for so many days now. He swung his legs over, clumsy in his haste and dropped down onto the floor with a dull thud.

He stood awkwardly, watching the tears slither drop from her eyes, her fingers swiping at them, hurriedly trying to compose herself.

"Has something happened?"

He asked, head tilted. She attempted a smile but her lips wobbled precariously and she looked away again.

He stepped forward, closing the gap between them and placed a hand hesitantly against her cheek, a tear pooling at the tip of his thumb.

"Connie...?"

He whispered, stroking her cheek gently.

She glanced up at him again, her face was still pale with shock, the tears left marks in her make up and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot and glazed.

She tried to speak but her breath caught in her throat and she choked on the tears that seemed unstoppable now.

He placed his other hand about her waist, pulling her closer to him. For a moment she held back, pushing her own hand against his chest and shaking her head.

"I can't..."

She whispered, her voice thick and broken.

He pulled her to him anyway, wrapping both arms about her, one had splayed against her back, the other pressed against the nape of her neck, his fingers against her hair , stroking slowly.

She pushed her face into the gap between his shoulder and his neck, her fists balled at his back, her body finally giving way to the fear and shock that she felt.

He let her cry, just holding her steady, holding her up, pulled tightly against his chest, his chin resting against the top of her head. She trembled within his arms and he could feel the struggle and shudder of every breath that she took.

He stroked her hair, his fingers moving so slowly, curling amongst the waves that were pulled and caught in the collar of her shirt. Eventually she began to calm down, her breathing became less erratic and she began to sniff and pulled away ever so slightly, eyes lowered to where he face had been. His jumper, although navy showed the damp patch of smudged mascara and the pale residue of her foundation.

"I'm sorry..."

She whispered. He glanced down to his shoulder.

"I've had worse things on it."

He murmured. She looked up at him, her eyes a shocking blue-green against the bloodshot whites and dribbles of mascara blotted her ruddy cheeks.

"I didn't mean that."

She exhaled as she spoke, raising her eyes toward the ceiling and slipping a hand between them to run a finger under each eye.

"I meant this...me..."

She almost laughed.

He linked his fingers at the base of her spine, having no intention of letting her go.

"Talk to me."

He said simply. She looked back at him, lips pursed. She shook her head ever so slightly.

"..can't."

She whispered, her voice lost.

He inhaled slowly, a long thoughtful inhale that he only exhaled once he had guided her to the sofa, pulling her down next to him. He tucked his hands about her own, holding them gently, thumbs stroking the backs of her hands.

"Talk to me."

He said again, he was quieter this time. His thumbs stroking her hands so slowly that it became quite hypnotic.

She looked up at him.

"I must look awful..."

She breathed. He shrugged.

She made to speak again but found the words caught in her throat. She paused again, swallowed and looked back down to his hands.

"I made a mistake."

She said eventually, and when he remained silent she continued, her voice faltering and soft.

"A patient of mine has just been diagnosed with HIV."

She continued, her throat spasming about the words, the nausea returning.

"I treated him without wearing gloves. Only for a moment...but I'd cut myself beforehand and left the wound undressed..."

She faltered.

"Dr Cutler and I both have to be tested..."

She whispered.

"Both of you?"

He asked quietly.

She nodded.

"He pricked himself with a syringe full of the patients blood."

She almost laughed again.

"I don't make mistakes! The one time I do..."

She bit her lip.

"Hey..."

He raised a hand, placing a finger under her chin to raise her face to meet his own.

"Everyone makes mistakes. I know that sounds cliché, whatever...everyone makes them, and everyone makes fucking big mistakes like this one too."

He paused. She rolled her eyes and he let his hand fall back down to hers.

"So when is the test?"

He asked, still he seemed to have had no reaction to what she had told him. She felt slightly unnerved.

"It's just a blood test, I can do it."

She murmured.

"So do it now."

He said simply. She frowned.

"If you do it now then the results will be back quicker and you can put your mind at rest."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Or..."

He added

"You can deal with the outcome. Whatever it is at least you'll know."

He squeezed her fingers gently and she nodded vaguely.

**More soon xxx**


	26. Chapter 26

It was Thursday the 29th October. She sat at her desk, her hands splayed upon the surface in front of her, her eyes upon the pale blue of her veins that ran just beneath her skin.

The day before she had sat here with Max, had drawn blood from her own arm whilst he winced and bit his lip, watching the needle pierce her skin and the vile fill with hot red blood.

She'd taken it to the lab under a false name and left it there.

She wondered if Tristan had done the same.

She hadn't heard from him since yesterday. Although, she realised, there was no reason for him to get in touch.

It would take three days for her blood to be processed, she had the weekend to wait. Until then she was confined to the office, excusing herself from the surgery rota in favour of 'catching up' with paperwork.

Instead she sat, preferring to be here than at home. The door to the office was locked, the blinds drawn shut. She could hear the wind outside, a faint murmur and wheeze against the glass, the pane rattling slightly in it's shell.

She inhaled slowly. The little sleep she had had the night before had been tainted with an odd recurring nightmare, one she vaguely remembered from child hood, a dream where she seemed to be disappearing, she left no mark, no shadow, no reflection, and she looked down to her feet she was floating, her body leaving the earth, and no matter how hard she screamed, no one heard a thing.

She closed her eyes and pushed her fingers against her temples, resting her elbows on the desk.

Was she disappearing now? If the test came back positive she would lose the self that she had worked so hard to create. She would lose the woman who refused to distinguish between setback and catastrophe; who worshipped accomplishment above all else and made herself unbearable to others because she genuinely believed she could root out and reform every incidence of human fecklessness and mediocrity.

She would lose the career that made her the woman that she was.

And then came the tap, the tap against the window that came at the same time each day. Although, today, somehow she hadn't been expecting it. She had assumed, albeit subconsciously that today he wouldn't come, that perhaps he would stop coming altogether, because this strange set up of theirs relied upon the brief lightness of meetings in which they would discuss not very much at all, but feel so comfortable discussing it that by the end of his tea break she didn't want him to leave. Somehow she had assumed that he wouldn't come back now that something like this had happened.

She stood up from her seat and made her way to the window, as she opened it the glass steamed up, the cool air from outside billowing in with the howl of the wind and the spatter of rain.

Without a word he climbs in through the window, struggling against the pull of the wind. He slips down onto the floor in front of her, so close to her that if she weren't with her back to the wall she would have stepped back.

She could smell him, his breath and the smell of his jumper, hot and rich with the scent of hot chocolate. Quite unlike the powdery hot chocolate from a tin that she remembered from when she was a girl, he had the throaty richness like the perfumed beans from the coffee stall on the market, a redolence of amaretto and tiramisù, a smoky, burned flavour, the smell of which she inhaled, entered her mouth and made it water.

"You're wet."

She whispered, looking down at his trousers, the thighs of which were darker than the rest from where he had been kneeling to work.

He followed her gaze.

"I'll dry off."

He said.

He raised his eyes to look at her, his face was wet with rain and his hair was flat against his head, rivulets of water slithering from his hair across his forehead.

"How are you feeling?"

He asked quietly, noticing how dark it was in the room with the blinds drawn and only the small table lamp for light.

She met his gaze.

"Oh, I've been better."

She murmured.

"I bought you this."

He said after a pause, he offered her a flask, not his usual blue one but a dark pink one with a metal lid.

She took it, it was warm to the touch.

"Thank you...?"

"I know it's nothing useful, or..."

He tailed off with a shrug of his shoulders.

She smiled and held the flask against her chest.

He cleared his throat.

"I don't know if I'll see you any more."

He spoke quickly, taking her off guard.

"Sorry?"

She asked, not quite understanding.

He glanced toward the window.

"Apparently my services are '_no longer needed'_."

He said with another shrug, looking back to her with a raise of his eyebrows.

She glanced to the window, they could hear the dull clatter of work tools and murmur of voices from outside on the scaffolding.

"Why...?"

She asked quietly, although she seemed to know very well why.

He sucked in a breath and exhaled through his teeth.

"Too many tea breaks."

He said simply.

She nodded slowly, glancing again to the window.

"So, I've lost you your job."

She said flatly. He shook his head.

"No..entirely my fault."

He smiled as he spoke but his eyes were laced with the threat of 'what now's'.

"What are you going to do?"

She asked, her voice all but a whisper.

"Oh, I'lll find something. Employers are crying out for people like me. No degree, no a-levels, no talent, I make a good cup of tea though..."

"You do."

She whispered.

"I'm sure I'll be snapped up."

He murmured.

She glanced down to her hands, her fingers laced about the flask. Although it hadn't been that long since Max had appeared at her window, she suddenly felt as though her days would feel much longer, much more lonely now that she wouldn't be waiting for his knock at the window.

"How are you at pushing wheelchairs?"

She asked.

**More soon! xxx**


	27. Chapter 27

Max had raised an eyebrow at her suggestion that he apply for the position of hospital porter. He couldn't see himself pushing patients about the wards, dealing with the general public had never been his forte but the lure of being able to see Connie everyday seemed all that was needed to push him into agreeing.

Connie had telephoned down to reception, had left her recommendations with the necessary persons and had sent Max downstairs with a flick of her wrist in the direction of her door, sending him off to meet with whomever it was that did the hiring and firing of porters these days.

In the meantime she sat with her hands neatly folded on her desk, waiting for nothing in particular, trying to push any thought from her mind.

She glanced at the clock, Max had only been gone for ten minutes but already the silence was throbbing within her ears, even the wind outside seemed to have stilled.

The was a knock at the door, a vaguely familiar rhythmic knock. She ignored it, listening instead to the whooshing of the blood within her ears. The handle turned and she realised with a falter of her heart that she had forgotten to lock the door again after Max had left.

She held her breath as the door opened, exhaling slightly when Tristan looked around the door frame.

"Can I come in?"

He asked, his voice seemed tense within his mouth.

She nodded and gestured briefly to the chair opposite her.

He entered and shut the door firmly behind himself. He paused momentarily between the door and the chair, his cheeks pale but a slight flush creeping slowly up from his neck.

"Uh. The name on your door..."

He threw a backward glance to the door.

"What about it?"

She asked.

"Somebody seems to have used a marker pen to make some...alterations..."

He scratched the side of his head as he spoke. She frowned.

"What do you mean?"

She asked, exhaling.

"Well, I'm assuming it should read, '_Connie Beauchamp' _next line '_Consultant', _but on the word consultant, they've blacked out the letters 'o', 'n', 's' and 'l', 't', and 'a'."

He explained, pushing his hands into his back pockets, watching as her frown deepened, her mind processing what he had said.

"So that it reads, _Connie Beauchamp, cun..."_

"Yes, yes...I realise what it's been changed to...thank you."

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I rubbed it off as much as I could..."

He added, raising his arm, showing her the blackened cuff of his shirt.

She inhaled in and out slowly through her nose.

"Thank you."

She whispered.

They paused, the air seeming tight around them as it had done when they had first met, the tension re-emerged and Tristan seemed to stiffen where he stood.

"So..."

She breathed, readying herself to broach the elephant in the room.

"Oh yes...I've got this..."

He pulled out a card from his back pocket with a flourish that sent the envelope fluttering to the ground beneath her desk.

"It's a card. Someone's leaving...Beatrice...Betty...?"

He flicked open the card to check.

"Bethany!"

He corrected himself.

"I said I'd do the rounds with it...as I've got nothing else to do..."

He set the card down on her desk in front of her and ducked down to retrieve the envelope.

"I don't know her but I've spent all morning trying to think of the wittiest thing to write..."

He re-emerged from under the desk, his face seemed all the more flushed and he seemed to be speaking without really thinking, perhaps to cover the silence, perhaps to stop her from being able to ask the questions that he knew she wanted to ask...

"Too late."

She murmured, pushing the card back across the table without opening it, having already been presented with it earlier.

"I think you'll find Dr Knight has already written the wittiest comment."

She breathed, watching his eyes fall back down to the card. He reached for it, picked it back up and flicked it open, his eyes scanning the various comments.

"So he has..."

He nodded slightly.

"Do you think she'll notice if I write that too?"

He attempted a smile, one she seemed unable to return.

"I think that would spoil it somewhat."

She said, her voice tailing off, her mind elsewhere as she looked to the paperwork upon the desk.

"I could just tip-ex out his name...do you have any tip-ex?"

He asked, fumbling again.

She looked up at him, she could see the panic within his eyes.

She sighed.

"Why don't you just draw an arrow and write '_I told Dr Knight to write this because he couldn't think of anything better?'"_

She asked.

"Brilliant!"

He exhaled as if genuinely relieved that she had managed to resolve his problem, he snatched up a pen that she had on the desk and bent his head to amend Cal's comment, leaning the card back down on the desk.

"Perfect! I love you..."

He exclaimed as he finished writing, placing the pen back down in front of her.

"Sorry...I don't mean..."

He flushed again, seemingly annoyed by himself.

She leant back in her seat and placed her hands in her lap, just looking at him for a moment before speaking.

"Why have you come to see me?"

She asked quietly.

His body seemed to relax slightly, as though he were relieved that she had finally asked.

He looked across at her, his eyes so blue despite the shadows that danced across his face.

"I need your advice."

He said eventually, and as he spoke he suddenly sounded like himself again, the tension in his body slowly dispersing, taking with it the awkwardness that hung about them.

"Advice about what?"

She asked slowly.

"About yesterday. When I left like that...I wanted your advice on whether I should apologise verbally, or physically?"

He asked, the twitch of a smile at his lips.

She frowned slightly, watching as the sunlight from the window behind began filter from behind a cloud, illuminating him in storm pale yellow, his eyes bright despite the pain he held behind them, his lips slightly damp from where he had licked them. He smiled again, that tentative smile that made her breath catch in her chest.

"physically?"

She whispered, answering before she had realised what she was going to say.

He bit gently on his bottom lip, suppressing a smile.

"Good. Unbiased and instinctive..."

He gave a gentle nod of his head, his smile spreading quickly.

He stood up from the seat opposite her, and moved to her side of the desk, reaching out a hand to her which she took, tentatively, feeling the warmth of his skin as his hand enveloped her own. He helped her to her feet and watched as she smoothed her skirt with her free hand.

She faced him, felt his other hand against her hip, pulling her closer as he dipped his head and placed a single, soft kiss against her lips, pulling away only ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry."

He breathed against her lips, and kissed her again, letting her hand drop from his own and touching his fingers against her cheek as she slipped her arms about his neck.

"Oh, it would be easy to fall in love with you..."

He whispered.

**More soon (this is where it starts getting interesting...!) I hope everyone is still finding it enjoyable. Thank you SO much for all of the lovely comments, they continue to make my 4AM mornings that little bit more bearable! xxx**


	28. Chapter 28

He stepped back, just a little bit, just so that he could look at her. Her lips were parted and she breathed more heavily now.

She dipped her head. Everything seemed to be happening all at once.

"Should I not have said that?"

He asked, his hands finding hers, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze.

She smiled and shook her head, glancing up at him.

"It's always nice to hear nice things about oneself..."

She paused and tilted her head to one side.

"I'm just not sure what to say...where that leaves us?"

She thought of Max as she spoke. Somehow she had found herself between these two men without realising it.

He glanced down, biting his bottom lip against a smile.

"It doesn't have to mean anything."

He said, he pulled up his shoulders as if half way through a shrug, and looked back up at her.

"Unless you want it to."

He added.

She exhaled slowly, her head began to throb again.

"Did you do the test?"

She asked quietly. She felt him tense against the words, as if he had momentarily forgotten about their situation.

"I did."

He said simply.

She could feel his hands, interlinked at her back, his thumbs rubbing her spine up and down repeatedly.

"What will you do...if you are?"

She asked, hoping for some sort of a clue as to what she herself could do if the tests did indeed come back positive.

He drew up his shoulders again and let them fall, his thumb slowing their motion at her back.

"I'll find something to do. I've re-invented myself so many times that I'm in denial that I was originally an overweight Korean woman working in a Chinese takeaway..."

He spoke quietly, attempting a smile, which she returned with hesitation.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

She asked quietly.

He pursed his lips, pulling her just that little bit closer so that she could smell him, the clean smell of his shirt, his aftershave, the smell of coffee on his breath.

"That I won't be able to work as a surgeon again? Or that I won't be able to have any more children, or even have sex because I'm allergic to bloody condoms...oh, and I'll probably die a slow and undignified death...?"

He paused to take a breath.

"Yes, it bothers me."

He concluded.

She closed the gap between them, pulling him closer and resting her head against his chest, hugging him close so that she could hear his heartbeat through the soft cotton of his shirt.

"Surely they make latex free condoms?"

She whispered against him after a pause. She heard him smile and felt him place a soft kiss on the top of her head.

"Interesting that that's what you picked up on..."

He kissed her hair again and pulled his arms so tightly a bout her that it squeezed the air from her momentarily.

"Yes they do, I was just making a point."

He whispered against her hair.

"What will you do?"

He asked. She closed her eyes against him.

"Oh...research..."

She answered with the false certainty and her voice had the far away sound of someone lost within their own mind.

He tightened his grip on her again, his heart beat drumming faintly against her cheek, the warmth of him providing the faint sense of comfort.

Indeed he seemed to her sometimes made differently from other people, born blind, deaf, and dumb, to the ordinary things, but to the extraordinary things, with an eye like an eagle's. His understanding had astonished her from the moment that they had met, his ability to read her, to flow with her as they did in surgery, or on the wards. He knew what was needed of him before she had the chance to speak.  
>Despite the pull of him she felt the unnerving threat of his extinction. Somehow she felt that he wouldn't be forever, or at least not hers, not here. He had that look about him, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world, taking him with them.<br>She felt the tightening in her chest that she had felt so few times before, with Michael, with Will... But somehow Tristan was different in his otherness. He was self-contained, and she knew that if she were the sort of person that wrote love letters, or notes of affection, he would leave them unanswered. And it was for that, that in this moment she loved him. Oblivious, almost entirely ignorant of his affect on her she assumed that he would pass from her life as easily as he had crept in, as all the others had done before. And she too would pass, incredible as it seemed, into other lives where she would die like some bird in a frost gripping her perch; this was only an escapade perhaps, a prelude only. For he was too like herself to be anything other than a passing fancy...  
>"I'd better go."<br>He whispered.  
><strong>More very soon! Apologies if my getting caught up in poetic description gets a bit much, I struggle to reign myself in sometimes :) xxx<strong> 


	29. Chapter 29

"Wait."

She whispered, touching her fingers against his arm to hold him still as he made to move away from her.

"The offer of dinner...does it still stand?"

She asked quietly, glancing only briefly to meet his gaze. He smiled slowly.

"It is. Tonight?"

He pushed a stray hair back from her face, his fingertips lingering as they fell from her jaw.

She nodded and bit her bottom lip against a smile.

"Just one problem."

He added, causing her smile to falter.

"Sarah isn't working tonight so she will be home. I don't particularly want her there when I'm trying to woo you..."

"Woo me?"

She raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Yes. Don't you laugh at me, Beauchamp."

He nudged her gently on the arm.

"Mrs..."

She breathed.

"Mmm. Yes, we'll see what we can do about that."

He whispered, squeezing her hands, warming them with his own before letting them fall.

"Anyway, I could cook dinner for you at yours...?"

He tilted his head, gauging her reaction, which, as ever, was masked beautifully.

"What about Ned?"

She asked, for he had been the one to invite her. He inhaled so that his chest puffed out against his shirt and she had the overwhelming urge to press her hands against him, to touch him and feel how warm and solid he was.

He drew up his shoulders.

"I could bring him? If it's not too much of an imposition?"

He asked. The thought bubbled at the back of her mind, the idea of Grace and Ned meeting at such an early stage in their relationship, or whatever this was between them made her feel slightly uncomfortable. Never the less she gave a brief nod of her head.

"Meet me here at six."

She said, refusing to let her mind wander into any more of these unwelcome thoughts.

"Six it is."

He murmured as he backed away to the door.

"I'll see you then."

He breathed, letting himself out of the small room.

She exhaled a breath that she seemed to have been holding for what felt like days. Her life over the past few weeks had felt like a series of opening doors, people coming and going almost constantly so that she barely had a chance to realise where she was or what she was about to do.

Perhaps it was that that had kept her from thinking so much about the looming test results. She felt the thought begin to bloom within her mind and quickly quashed it, killing it dead before it had a chance to set in roots.

She placed her hands together, interlinking her fingers as she glanced about the room. So much had happened in such a little room in such a short space of time. And then she felt the sadness, the lurch of it at the back of life which some people do not attempt to mitigate. Entirely aware of their own standing in the shadow, and yet alive to every tremor and gleam of existence, there they endure. Somehow she felt it more today, perhaps it was guilt at not spending more time with Grace, or the worry of suddenly having two men to choose between.

She smiled at the arrogance of that thought and moved toward the window.

The darkening autumn sky, even thought it was cold and melancholy, never failed to shoot through her limbs as with arrows of sparkling piercing ice. She pulled the thick curtains closer so that only a strip of darkening sky showed between the grey curtains, her eyes searched for the first glow in the sky which showed that stars were breaking through. And with her cheek leant upon the window pane she closed her eyes to the chill of it, feeling as though she were pressing upon the massy wall of time, which seemed to be for ever lifting and pulling and letting fresh spaces, or indeed as it was in this case, faces, of life in. She exhaled, her breath sending a fleeting mist against the pane of glass with gradually dispersed as her train of thought wandered. She thought suddenly of what her Grandfather used to tell her whilst he sat in the wing back arm chair of her grandparents living room, smoking a pipe whilst her Grandmother shelled peas... "Let us, then, who have the gift of the present, use it and enjoy it..."

**More very soon. And just out of interest (I was curious after reading various messages and reviews) would you like prefer to see Connie and Max together or Connie and Tristan ? I have the story planned out to the end, but curiosity insisted I ask ;) xxx**


	30. Chapter 30

Six o'clock had come and gone, dinner plates were stacked neatly in the dishwasher and the table had been cleared of the remnants of dinner. Ned sat happily on the sofa, curled up and dozing whilst Grace sat, legs folded underneath herself reading stories on her tablet.

Connie poured another glass of wine and passed it to him before topping up her own.

"Grace, it's time for bed."

Connie spoke as she set the wine bottle down on one of the end tables flanking the largest of the two sofa's in the large sitting room.

Grace ignored her, reminaing where she sat, eyes flicking furiously across the words on the screen.

"Grace..."

Connie spoke louder this time, sitting stiffly on the arm of the sofa where Tristan sat.

"Grace!"

She tightened her grip on the glass she held. Grace looked up with all the venom of a teenager within her large brown eyes.

"It's time for bed."

Connie repeated slowly. Grace rolled her eyes and looked back down to the screen.

Tristan looked from Grace to Connie who had visibly stiffened, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He placed a hand, just out of sight, against her thigh. His palm hot even through the fabric of her clothes.

"Hey! Grace..."

He spoke so jovially and unexpectedly that Grace looked up at him without meaning to, her eyebrows raised in a manner that reminded him of her mother.

"How about a bedtime story?"

He asked, his hand slipping from Connie's thigh so that he could clasp his hands between his legs as he leant forward.

"I'm eight."

Came the curt reply. Tristan smiled nonetheless, glancing to Ned who had finally drifted off to sleep in the corner of the sofa.

"I'm thirty two and I still enjoy a bedtime story..."

He coaxed. Connie raised an eyebrow in unison with her daughter.

"I'm not talking about kiddie stories. Come on."

He stood up and gestured to the door. Grace looked mildly alarmed before glancing to her mother. Connie.

"I can put myself to bed."

She said, standing, the tablet slipping from her lap to the floor. Tristan bent down to pick it up as Grace marched past him.

"Grace..."

Connie reached out a hand to her daughter but she shook it off, stalking through the door without a backward glance.

Tristan held out he tablet to her.

"Library-denigrators, pay heed: suggesting e-readers are a viable substitute for real books is like saying porn could replace marriage..."

He said as she took it from him. She looked at him, a frown furrowing her brow.

"There are worse things she could be doing..."

She murmured, placing the tablet on the table next to the wine bottle.

"Mmm."

Tristan looked at the palm of his hand, unsure of what to say.

"I've got a spare room, if you'd like to take him up...?"

She looked to Ned who's eyes were rolled back in his head, his mouth wide open as he breathed heavily. Tristan couldn't help but smile as he looked at him.

"Show me the way..."

He inhaled as he spoke and moved to scoop the sleeping child up within his arms.

"At the top of the stairs, the second door on the right."

She answered, watching, vaguely distracted as he lifted the boy and straightened himself back up.

"I'll be in the kitchen."

She added, shifting herself from the arm of the chair and lifting the empty wine bottle.

Tristan glanced briefly at her as he passed her by, slipping from the room as silently as he could.

She moved into the kitchen, listening to the creak of the stairs as Tristan climbed, moving slowly, being careful not to wake Ned who had looked so peaceful laying there asleep on her sofa.

She thought about dinner, how Tristan had seemed to thoroughly enjoy the preparation of the food, and the idea that he was somehow providing for and caring for this odd selection of people that she had found in her home.

Grace had, as usual, spent the entire evening in the sitting room, eyes glued to the tablet, refusing to try even a mouthful of the food. And Tristan, being the gentleman that he was hadn't batted an eyelid.

She leant against the work surface, let her head fall back and her eyes fall closed. She breathed through her mouth.

When had it all become so difficult? She wondered.

She heard the creak of the stairs again, and let her eyes open, her head lowering against the glare of the ceiling light.

"Sparko."

Tristan said as he entered the kitchen. Connie tightened her arms which she had wrapped about herself.

"Sorry?"

She murmured.

"Sound asleep."

He grinned as he spoke, his accent stronger after alcohol had been consumed.

"More wine?"

He asked. She sucked in a steadying breath.

"Are you sure that's wise?"

She asked, watching as he swayed ever so slightly and his eyes had taken on the glassy look of wandering thoughts.

"I'm Irish, I can take it."

He wrinkled his nose as he smiled.

"Besides..."

He added, placing his hands on the kitchen counter next to her.

"I want to know your secrets."

He whispered. She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he spoke.

"Secrets?"

She asked, speaking slowly, uncertain of what he meant. He smiled again.

"Wine talks; you know that. The oracle at the street corner; the uninvited guest at the wedding feast; the holy fool...It ventriloquizes. It has a million voices. It unleashes the tongue, teasing out secrets you never meant to tell..."

He paused and narrowed his eyes.

"Secrets you never even knew you had. It shouts, rants, whispers. It speaks of great plans, tragic loves, and terrible betrayals. It screams with laughter. It chuckles softly to itself. It weeps in front of its own reflection. It revives summers long past and memories best forgotten. Every bottle a whiff of other times, other places, everyone...a humble miracle..."

He bit his lip.

"So..."

He wrapped a hand about the empty wine bottle and raised it.

"What are your secrets, _Mrs _Beauchamp...?"

**More soon ;) xxx**


	31. Chapter 31

"I don't have secrets."

She murmured, moving away from him, leaving him to tail after her back into the sitting room.

"Oh come on! Everyone has secrets...even you."

He paused.

"Especially you."

He added. She tossed him a backward glance.

"Why especially me?"

She asked quietly. He shrugged slightly.

"Just a guess."

He said simply.

She felt as though she was holding her breath. Her jaw began to ache and she realised that she was gritting her teeth. She lowered herself down onto the sofa, making a conscious effort to relax her face.

"Besides..."

He spoke as he sat down next to her.

"Don't all mothers have secrets?"

He asked, folding his leg up onto the sofa so that he could sit facing her, an arm resting across the back of the cushions.

She smiled slightly and shook her head, looking down at her hands that lay in her lap.

"Just because I gave birth doesn't make me a mother."

She said gently, glancing at him, catching his eye.

"Ah..."

He tilted his head.

"What makes you say that?"

He asked, his voice softer than it had been, his eyes losing that far away gaze they had had only moments before.

She ran a fingertip back and forth over a hang nail at the side of her index finger.

"Oh, I've had all of dreams...in which I am a fantastic mother, full of love and affection and..."

She tailed off and her lips gave the hint of a wobble. She looked up at him for the first time since she had sat down.

"I suppose not everyone is suited to parenthood."

She whispered.

He let his hand slip across the fabric of the sofa, just touching her fingers, squeezing them softly.

"Dreams do come true, if you want them hard enough. You can have anything in life if you sacrifice everything else for it."  
>His words seemed almost poetic as he spoke and she found herself smiling.<br>"I'm sorry, are we in a musical? Are you about to burst into song, Dr Cutler?"  
>She smiled again and he laughed softly.<br>"You wouldn't want to hear me sing."  
>He shook his head as he spoke.<p>"Anyway. Dreaming is for people who like to sleep."<p>

He added, leaning back slightly so that the cushions gave way and enveloped his body. She frowned, not quite understanding but not wanting to further the conversation more by asking anything of it.

"So...Grace, has she always been such a handful...?"

He asked. Connie shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about it...her."

A nervous smile faltered at her lips and she let her eyes wander to the far side of the room where the shadows played in the corners.

Tristan looked down at his hands, his knuckles showed white through his skin as he clenched and unclenched his fists, a strange sort of tension seeming to hang from above them, consuming them and making it nigh on impossible to break the silence that throbbed so loudly.

Connie dipped her head, glancing only briefly up at him, that same flutter of a smile danced and disappeared from her lips again. She laughed quietly.

"Every time I look at you, I feel so completely dismantled."

She whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

He met her gaze, she looked so fragile, doll-like even, lit a dreamlike yellow in the hazy evening glow.

He reached out a hand and touched it against hers, their fingers intertwining between them. He cleared his throat. But he could not tell her he loved her. Instead he held her hand.

Happiness is this, he thought.

**Just a short update before I make dinner. Then I will update again after we've eaten :) xxx**


	32. Chapter 32

"I'd better check on Grace...I need to...change..."

She shifted, standing up, all to aware of his gaze upon her, of the look within his eye. She'd seen it before, when they'd had sex in her office. She sucked in a breath, feeling untidy, worn out, uncomfortable in the stiff clothes that she wore.

He cleared his throat again, seemingly somewhat taken aback.

"I'll um...I'll..."

He looked to where Ned was sleeping and paused again.

"You can stay..."

She murmured, following his gaze to where Ned lay, his perfect little face so content and innocent. She barely remembered such innocence in Grace even if she were asleep.

"If you like."

She added watching the thoughts pass behind his eyes.

"I'll show you the room..."

She spoke again, taking the decision from him, sensing his awkwardness. She moved to the doorway before he had even had the chance to stand, but heard the soft creak of the floorboards as he made his way to follow her, picking up his sleeping child on his way.

"Are you sure about this?"

He asked, following her into the hallway as she passed onto the stair case.

"I've had too much to drink to drive you back."

She answered as she climbed the stairs, hearing the rubber soles of his shoes squeak as he followed her.

"I could get a taxi...?"

He sounded out of breath as he stepped onto the landing. She turned to face him, arms folding across her chest.

"You don't have to stay..."

She felt that old familiar guard begin to rise before her. He just looked at for a moment, realising how tired she looked under the bright glare of the landing light that she stood directly beneath making a halo of her hair above her head.

"Which room is it?"

He asked quietly.

She gestured half-heartedly to the door opposite.

He followed her instructions, moving to the door and pushing it open with the toe of his shoe, a curious backward glance to Connie as he entered the room. She stood, her back to him, her body pressed against Grace's door, her back rising and falling with each slow breath as she peered through the barely open door into the dark room beyond.

With a click of the light switch he let the door fall shut behind him and she disappeared from view.

Hearing the close of his door she stepped back, pulling Grace's door closed, letting her fingers trace the carved wooden letters of her daughters name that she had screwed into her door. Such a little name for someone who meant so much.

She inhaled slowly, backing away and slipping into her own room. She by passed the light, instead leaving the door ajar, so that the room was left in only a pale silver light from the moon outside of the window. The darkness somehow helped to relax her. She stopped on one side of the bed, looking over to the window, undressing as she watched the wind in the trees outside.

She shivered against the cool air, her bare skin prickling. Her fingers eased out her hair grips, letting her hair fall in a tumble of waves across her shoulders. She ran a hand through the curls, teasing out the knots as she made her way into the en suite. It was even darker in the small, windowless room, with only the moonlight from the bedroom barely illuminating enough to see.

She leant into the shower, turning it on, moving her arm back quickly to avoid the first spattering of cold water to hit her, instead waiting until she could feel the heat and steam against her face before she stepped in, facing the cool tiled wall and turning her face up to the shower head, letting the water beat down hard upon her cheeks, her eyes, water pooling and smothering her so that she found she had to turn away so that she could breathe.

The water was hotter than she usually had it, but for some reason it felt necessary that she felt it, felt something other than the gnawing of worry about the HIV test that pranced and teased her at the back of her mind, and the strangeness of this budding relationship she seemed to have fallen into with Tristan, and the guilt that she felt when she thought of Max whilst the Irishman kissed her, and vice versa.

She reached for the soap, turning the gold bar over and over in her hands until the lather foamed and frothed between her fingers and she had to put it back for fear of dropping it. She ran her hands across her body, up over her face, scrubbing at the make up she wore, the soap stinging her eyes and making them water.

She stepped back to tilt her head back against the water, but as the water sluiced her face she felt the gentle curl of a hand about her shoulder and the cold rush of air from the open door.

"Fuck!"

She felt her body jerk involuntarily, her stomach lurching, her skin seeming to tremble all over. She blinked against the stinging sensation, turning to find Tristan behind her, naked, just the very front of his hair dripping with water.

"I didn't think you swore..."

He murmured, reaching out a hand to hers. She flinched away from his touch.

"You scared me."

She whispered over the repetitive roar of the water.

"Relax."

He smiled as he spoke.

"It's not that kind of shower scene."

He added, taking her hands, feeling her begin to withdrawer from him again.

He pulled her towards him, gently, slowly...wrapping his arms loosely about her. She trembled slightly, whether from the coolness of his body or something else he wasn't sure.

She felt his body, so hard against her own. He dipped his head and kissed her jaw, his lips were hot and wet and she felt her eyes close in response.

"You're beautiful, naked."

He whispered into her ear.

She inhaled sharply and all she could smell was him. She was naked within his arms, and without her heels she felt small and vulnerable. A state she didn't much enjoy. She pulled back to look up at him, the palms of her hands flat against his chest.

"Why me?"

She whispered so quietly that she had to repeat herself to be heard. He raised a hand to her hair, pushing it back from her face. But did he notice the faint scar on her forehead from where she had fallen and split her head open as a child? No. Did he notice the odd pale stretch mark on her stomach from carrying Grace? No. But he noticed the apprehension within her eyes, and the tremble of her body as he held her, and he stood and held her anyway like a person in a dream.

"Don't ask me that..."

He breathed, letting his fingers fall from her hair to her collar bone, to her chest where her skin was so soft that his fingers felt compelled to stray.

"I can't answer that..."

**More tomorrow... xxx**


	33. Chapter 33

Monday morning dawned. A dull, dark day with the threat of a storm and an Arctic nip that made Connie shiver as she tucked her arms about herself, making her way in through the double doors of the hospital. She glanced at the clock. 8:55AM.

She stopped just inside the entrance to rearrange her bag under her arm so that she could remove her phone from her pocket to check for messages.

"Mrs Beauchamp..."

She felt a breath at the nape if her neck, she turned sharply to find Max, the dark red of a porters hoody pulled over his t-shirt, a wheelchair held within one hand.

She took a step forward, lengthening the gap between them.

"You took my advice then."

She felt her lip twitch as she spoke, she glanced at the clock again, heard the opposite door creak and saw, out of the corner of her eye the new pile of results placed on the desk at reception.

"Today's D-Day then?"

He spoke quietly and twirled the wheelchair out of the way of a group of passing patients.

"Hmm?"

She murmured catching a glimpse of Tristan as he passed by on the opposite side of the waiting area, he caught her gaze, raised a hand and waved a small white envelope at her...results...

She looked back to Max.

"Oh. Yes..."

She inhaled and let out a quick sigh.

"Sorry, congratulations, on the job..."

She tailed off again, glancing back to where Noel was thumbing through the various results packets.

"Do-o you want me to come with you? Be there when you open it?"

He asked, leaning against her ever so slightly. She could feel the warmth of him through her coat.

She shook her head.

"No...thank you."

She pulled her arms more tightly around her waist and stepped away from him.

"I'll see you later?"

He called after her, watching her leave, the smell of her perfume lingering next to him so that for a moment he stayed where he stood, just watching her.

She stopped in front of reception.

"Ah! Mrs Beauchamp!"

Noel held out a small pile of sealed envelopes, placing them in her hands with a flourish.

Connie flicked through them, her eyes scanning each name, each envelope as she backed away from the desk toward the double doors.

"Always a pleasure!"

Noel called after her loudly, shaking his head at her vacant thanks.

She moved through the ward, out on to the corridor and into her office, her stomach churning, bubbling with a liquid terror that made her wince.

She felt sick as she sat down at her desk. She found the envelope, turned it over in her hands, feeling the acid sting of bile rising at the back of her throat and struggling to swallow against it.

She closed her eyes momentarily, feeling the paper between her fingers, watching the watery

gold glow of daylight through her eyelids and the flare of red as her heart raced and faded with the astonishing sensibility of some live creature on the verge of excitement.

Outside the trees dragged what was left of their leaves like nets through

the depths of the air; the sound of the rustling and blowing was in the room and through the whispers and snap of twigs came the voices of birds singing. Her hands stilled, just holding the envelope. She opened her eyes, her hand laying there on the desk, as she had seen her hand lie when she

was bathing, floating, on the top of the water. She stared, unblinking, watching her fingers break through the gum and seal of the envelope, tearing it, the noise loud in the silence, of ripping paper.

Everything seemed possible. Everything seemed caught in time. Just now (but this cannot

last, she thought, dissociating herself for the moment…). She hovered like a hawk suspended, like a flag floated in an element of terror and the thought of 'what would happen if...' which filled every nerve of her body…all of which rising in this profound stillness…seemed now for no special reason to stay there like pale grey smoke, like a fume rising upwards, holding this moment above all others. Nothing need be said; nothing could be said, she could barely think coherently, save the same rhythmic thought of 'What if this is it? The end of it all?' Of such moments, she thought, the memory is made that remains for ever after. This would remain with her no matter what the result, somehow she felt more vulnerable, changed somehow as though all of a sudden she had been faced with her own mortality, and the realisation that a positive result would end everything.

She pulled the paper from the envelope with a hand that shook uncontrollably, she unfolded it, her eyes scanning, searching and finally lingering on the result.

She let the paper fall to the desk top where it fluttered slightly catching in the air. She cupped her hands to her face, her teeth were chattering despite the warmth in the small room. She bent her head, closed her eyes and let the tears finally fall.

**More in a few minutes xxx**


	34. Chapter 34

There was a tap at the door. She recognised it instantly, the soft rhythmic tap that Max used to knock against her window.

She ran her fingers underneath her eyes, removing the smudged mascara. She made her way over to the door and unlocked it, opening it, pulling the door open ever so slightly, only just giving him enough room to slide in. He paused before she could close it.

"Can I come in?"

He asked, paling slightly as he realised she had been crying.

She nodded and pushed the door shut, locking it again as he entered.

"Sorry."

He pushed his hands into his pockets.

"I just wanted to know...?"

"I'm ok."

She cut him off, a slip of a smile tempting her lips. He visibly exhaled.

"You're negative?"

He asked, needing confirmation. She nodded, allowing herself to smile. She hadn't realised how much he'd worried...

"I'm negative."

She whispered.

"What about Dr. Cutler?"

He asked. Her smile faltered.

"I don't know, I haven't seen him yet."

She looked down at her hands, they seemed to still tremble. She felt that guilt again, niggling away in the very pit of her stomach that lurched and left the bitter taste of acid at the back of her mouth.

"So..."

Max broke her train of thought. He took a step toward her though his gaze was on the floor. She could smell his smell, an autumnal musky smell laced with the hint of cigarettes, and all of a sudden she realised how different he smelled to Tristan, with his peppermint lips and clothes that smelled of Christmas spices, and how different he was as a person... she looked at Max and saw his beautiful even smile, an unmatched kindness and a loyalty that she hadn't experienced before. Whereas with Tristan there was something different, neither, it seemed, stronger, weaker or less real, but his wit knotted together with such a fierce sexual attraction seemed to keep her wanting more. It seemed unfathomable to her that she had fallen into this odd state of affairs without seeming to notice.

"So..."

Max spoke again and she felt her cheeks flush pink, realising that she hadn't been paying attention.

"Sorry."

She breathed, touching her fingertips to her cheeks, feeling their warmth.

Max tilted his head and smiled that smile...

"There's a Halloween party at the hall next to the student house. Robyn said I could stay with her there for a bit."

He paused and squinted his eyes.

"I didn't know if you'd like to come?"

He asked, his voice lowering.

She smiled, sensing his embarrassment.

"And what would I be coming as, your date?"

She asked, watching the colour crawl from his neck to his cheeks. He rolled his eyes and smiled again.

"I was thinking more along the lines of witch...or Queen..."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"But date's fine with me."

He said with a faux casual shrug of his shoulders.

She pursed her lips, quelling a smile, regarding him with amusement.

"It's not really my thing..."

"How do you know until you've tried?"

He cut in, removing his hands from his pockets and placing them, palms down on her desk, leaning over it towards her, his gaze shamelessly flirtatious.

"People might talk..."

"You'll be in fancy dress, nobody will know it's you..."

He cut her off again, so quickly that she bit her lip catch her words.

"I don't think so."

She began again but he raised a finger and placed it against her lips to silence her.

"I've got a balaclava you can borrow. Would that help in any way?"

He asked, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. She felt the buzz of his finger, just ever so slightly touching against her mouth. She inhaled slowly and exhaled with a sigh.

"I will go."

She said finally, delighting in the flare of happiness that lit up his eyes.

"On the condition that I am not the only doctor there."

She added.

He pushed himself back up and wriggled his hands back into his pockets, a look of satisfaction twitched his lips.

"Doctor Hanna and Doctor Knight have already agreed..."

He spoke with such relish that she couldn't help but smile.

"Charlie is even going. All proceeds go to charity..."

He added with a self-satisfied purr.

"Which charity would that be?"

She asked, standing up from her desk and pushing up the sleeves of her shirt to just above her elbows.

"No idea."

He said with a shrug.

"I _may _have made that bit up to get people to come."

He mused, watching her adjust her skirt. She arched an eyebrow.

"Let me know what time and I will endeavour to get there."

She breathed, making her way to the door and placing a hand on the cold metal of the handle.

"I'll do one better, I'll pick you up."

He moved in next to her, leaning against the door.

"You'll pick me up?"

She repeated, looking at him. He was so close, like he had been the time when she had kissed him. She looked away hurriedly, knowing that if she maintained eye contact she would end up doing the same again.

"You don't want to park a car like yours in a place like that...not where we live. Besides, it would give away your disguise..."

He stepped away from the door, allowing her gaze to follow him. Enjoying the fact that she seemed momentarily lost for words.

Without a word she moved back over to the desk, took out a card and wrote quickly on it with a black Biro, before moving back over to him and handing it to him.

"My address."

She said simply.

**More soon...**

**Thank you so much to all of the people who comment so frequently. I love reading all of the lovely things that you have to say, and it does wonders for my inspiration, so please feel free to continue! **

**Thank you again xxx **


	35. Chapter 35

He followed her onto the ward, she could feel him ever present at her shoulder, and the thought of him so close, with that cigarette tainted scent made her stomach wince with something resembling anticipation.

They passed through the double doors, the heat from the overhead heating system blowing down on them making them shiver.

She caught sight of Tristan standing with his back to them against a wall, just the edge of a patients notes visible from behind his body.

Max followed her gaze.

"I'll leave you to it.."

He murmured, leaning into her, his body pressing against hers for a fleeting moment, just pushing against her enough to make her slip slightly off balance so that she had to side step to steady herself.

Tristan turned at the sound of her heels on the tiled flooring. She caught the quick rearrangement of his expression as he acknowledged her.

He folded the notes against his chest as she neared, stopping just close enough to speak in whispers, but not too close as to raise eyebrows.

"Tristan..."

She searched his face, narrowing her eyes, frustrated that she seemed unable to read him.

"Ah, first name basis now are we?"

He let a smile pinch his lips and the tip of his tongue stuck out. She smiled back, relief beginning to rise.

"You've seen me naked, I think it's only fair."

She spoke quickly and quietly, dipping her head but maintaining eye contact.

"And very nice It was too..."

He smiled again, glancing over her shoulder, making her turn to follow his gaze.

"I just..."

She paused as a trolley was pulled up next to her, Tristan using his free arm to pull her closer to him.

"I'm negative."

She whispered, relishing the chance to be so close to him whilst the trolley waited for the porters to get the doors before it was wheeled through and she was forced to take a step back again.

"Hmm?"

He murmured, watching the trolley bypass them, somewhat distracted.

"I'm negative."

She whispered again, watching as he looked back down at her. His eyes glittered although his mouth failed to smile.

"That's ok, overly positive people can be very annoying."

He grinned and again his tongue stuck out between his teeth. She rolled her eyes and he nudged her with the arm that held the papers.

"Knew you would be."

He said quietly.

"So, are you going to this Halloween party?"

He asked, before she had a chance to speak again.

She nodded to Tess over his shoulder as she came closer.

"Apparently so."

She said, watching as he drew in a long breath.

"Good!"

He exhaled as he spoke. Tess raised a hand to hail her, stepping out of the way as a wheelchair was pushed by.

"Mrs Beauchamp..."

Tess called over the noise of the ward. Connie glanced quickly from her back to Tristan.

"We can celebrate."

He added with a quick wink of his eye.

She smiled, finally allowing the relief to bubble up and wash over her.

"Mrs Beauchamp?"

Tess called again.

"Just a second."

Connie raised a hand again.

"I will see you tonight. If not before..."

Connie placed a hand on Tristan's arm and squeezed her fingers about his shirt sleeve.

"See you then."

He winked again and turned back to the notes that he held.

Tess summoned her over with a quick flick of her hand.

"Nurse Bateman?"

Connie side stepped a flurry of patients to stand by Tess's side.

"I just wanted to ask you about the new porter?"

She murmured, her eyes straying as one of the patients stopped in front of them, his face an off-white shade of green.

"I think I'm gonna throw up!"

He exclaimed suddenly. Connie stepped back from the line of fire.

"The bathroom is just over there."

She said loudly, pointing a manicured finger in the direction of the toilets. The queasy man's friend looked wildly about himself until his eyes settled on the over head sign.

"There!"

He gave his friend a shove in the general direction.

"I think you should probably go with him."

Connie spoke again, gesturing to the man who staggered in the general direction of the sign.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?!"

He exclaimed. She rolled her eyes.

"Hold his hair."

She said, gesturing with her hand for him to follow his friend.

_"_He doesn't have any fucking hair!"

The friend muttered as he dutifully sauntered off in search of it drunk friend.

Connie turned back to Tess.

"The new porter..."

She began. Tess nodded, lips pursed.

"He was one of the scaffolders wasn't he?"

She asked, her brown eyes wide and clear as she looked up at Connie.

"Ye-es..."

Connie frowned, catching the slight turn in Tristan's body as he caught the end of their conversation.

"Every day as I was in the office, I'd hear a thud as though you'd dropped something..."

Tess paused, noting how Connie tensed, her eyes moving back and forth between herself and Tristan who stood opposite. She lowered her voice.

"...and then I realised that it was _him_ coming in through your window."

She fell silent. Connie frowned.

"I fail to see how this is relevant."

She spoke quietly, all to aware of Tristan on the other side of the corridor.

"Well, I just wondered if everything was ok...?"

Tess asked, a frown creasing the corners of her eyes.

Connie tutted softly.

"I'd expect it of various other members of the team, but not from you."

She hissed. Tess looked somewhat taken aback.

"What do you mean?!"

She asked, eyes widening again.

"Gossip, nurse Bateman. Honestly, what are we, twelve?"

"Now, come on...!"

Tess broke in but Connie shushed her slightly more enthusiastically than she had meant to.

"I will not have my personal life gossiped about. Do you understand?"

She hissed, aware that Tristan had turned to face them.

"Connie, I didn't mean..."

"Do you understand?!"

She snapped, leaving Tess open mouthed.

"Yes."

She said eventually, folding her arms about her small frame and turning her back on them, leaving Connie standing at the side of the corridor.

"Bit harsh."

Tristan spoke as he crossed the corridor to her. She felt him behind her but didn't turn, instead just let herself press back gently against him so that she could feel his body against hers. The fingers that held the patients notes against his chest raised and touched her back just above her waist, tailing slowly up and down.

"Have you got a minute?"

She asked, keeping her eyes on the ward before her.

"A minute?"

He asked, his breath tickling her ear and raising goosebumps across her chest.

"Sixty?"

She tilted her head back ever so slightly as she spoke, still watching the people that moved about before them, busying themselves with whatever it was that they might be doing.

"30 and you've got yourself a deal."

She heard him smile as she spoke and felt him press harder against her. She turned slowly, catching his eye as she moved slowly back toward the exit.

"Deal."

She whispered.

**More soon xxx**


	36. Chapter 36

The door closed with a satisfying '_click'. _She flicked the lock and pulled him to her, her back pushed up against the solid wood of the door.

She naked a hand beneath the collar of his shirt, touching her fingers against the warmth of his skin.

"You're a very attractive man, aren't you?"

She murmured, tiling her head, looking at him, his head bowed, his eyes the blue-green of the sea flecked with gold, his lips were ever so slightly parted and damp from where he had licked them.

"Yeah..."

He smiled slightly, rolling his eyes. She bit gently at her bottom lip.

She ran her fingernails through the hair at the nape of his neck, watching as the pulse at his throat began to quicken and he glanced to her lips...to her eyes, silently asking for her permission...

She smiled a faint, faraway smile, narrowing her eyes, using her free hand to move up from the bottom of his shirt, pulling him closer so that her fingers only barely had room to pull open each button. Once she had reached the last, she pushed back the fabric to his shoulders, allowing him to shrug it off so that it fell to the floor with a weightless crumple.

He touched her cheek, gently rubbing her skin with the backs of his fingers, tailing them down across her jaw, threading them through her hair and down to splay across her shoulders, his thumbs resting against her collar bone.

She slipped both arms about his neck, raising up on her toes so that her heels slipped from her shoes.

Her nose touched against his, he smiled, and as he exhaled she smelled the peppermint that so reminded her of him.

She dipped her face to kiss him, but paused, just letting her lips brush against his, feeling the breath catch in his throat as she pulled him even closer. She felt his hands move the length of her upper body, slipping slowly across her back, up across the sheer fabric of her blouse, just grazing her chest, the palms of his hands warm and wandering.

She brushed against his lips once more, just touching them with the tip of her tongue, teasing him, dragging her fingers up through his hair. He inhaled quickly, his lips twitched with the hint of a smile before she kissed him, a soft hot open mouthed kiss that gave way hurriedly to something more desperate. She struggled to catch her breath, slipping her tongue against his, her lips against his...

He reached down, his hands moving south from her hips, hitching up the black fabric of her skirt so that it bunched at her waist. He broke the kiss ever so slightly, bending slowly, running a series of kisses across her neck making her shudder against him while he moved his hands about her thighs, lifting her without warning, pulling her up so that he stood straight once again, her legs tightly wrapped about his hips, her forehead pressed against his.

He turned them both around, knocking the door as he did so, taking the couple of steps to the work surface to the right of the door and setting her down onto it, her legs still firmly about his waist. He ran a hand across her thigh, pinching the thin mesh of her tights and pushing a finger through, ripping them before she realised what he was doing.

She kissed him harder, hearing the soft rip and feeling how hard he was against her. He smelled like sex, his body felt hot and he leaned into her with such force that it was all she could do to hold onto him.

Then there was a knock at the door, loud staccato knock.

Tristan pulled away, raising his eyebrows in question. His lips were blurred and faintly smudged with her lipstick, his skin was flushed and his hair stood on end from where she had run her fingers through it. She shook her head, making to pull him back to her again, but the handle of the door grated, there wa s an odd double-click of the lock failing and the door opened.

Both Tess and Charlie made to enter, but faltered abruptly as they caught sight of Connie and Tristan.

"Uhm..."

Charlie was the first to speak, although what he said left much t obe desired. All four seemed frozen, Connie felt her thighs begin to tremble and her lips felt dry as she swallowed.

"I locked...I thought I'd locked it..."

She let her hands fall from Tristan's neck, cleared her throat and began smoothing her hair away from her face. Tristan glanced down at the hole he had ripped in her tights, deciding it best not to move from his dubious position.

"I don't think you did..."

Charlie offered, placing a hand to the back of his neck and averting his gaze while Tess still stood, open mouthed.

"No."

Connie murmured, as she shifted herself into a slightly comfier position on the work surface, all to aware that her skirt was pushed high up above her waist and that her thighs, only covered by her tights were in full view.

"I think you'd better, uh..."

Connie cleared her throat again, hearing the rattle of a trolley some way down the corridor.

"Yes..."

Tess placed her hand back on the door handle and looked to Charlie, her brown eyes wide.

"Uh, yes...yes."

He let his hand fall and he began to back slowly from the room.

"When you've got a minute, there's a patient requesting you...and um, you too."

He looked to Tristan who met his eyes quickly.

"Righto!"

Tristan answered a little too brightly, his eyebrows raised.

Charlie nodded, pursing his lips, looking to Tess again who followed him out slowly.

"See you in a...when you're..."

He gestured with a hand as Tess pulled the door closed behind them.

Tristan exhaled loudly, staggering backward away from her and leaning against the desk. Connie slipped down from where she perched upon the work top, pulling her skirt down over the tear in her tights.

"Fuck me!"

Tristan puffed out his cheeks before blowing out a whistling breath through pursed lips.

Connie glanced at him as she tucked her blouse back into her skirt.

"Are you ok?"

He asked, watching the tremble of her fingers.

She glanced at him again.

"I'm fine."

She whispered. His eyes sparkled with amusement, his cheeks still flushed with arousal, his chest pale but perfectly taught, and for the first time she saw his tattoos, and it was, she realised the first time that she had seen him at least half naked in the light.

His arms, usually hidden by his sleeves, were decorated, and there was a something written beneath the fine covering of dark hair on the left side of his chest.

He followed her gaze.

"Not noticed them before, huh?"

He squinted at her, unsure as to whether she would approve. She shook her head quickly.

"Get dressed."

She said, leaning down to pick up his shirt and tossing it over to him. He caught it one handed and pulled it the right way out before putting it back on and buttoning it up.

Once he had finished he made his way over to where she stood, hovering tensely by the door, her hand resting on the handle.

"Don't worry about it..."

He said quietly, smoothing her hair with his hand.

She closed her eyes against his touch.

"We can finish what we started tonight. After the party?"

He murmured, leaning into her and placing a kiss at her temple. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"I'll hold you to that."

She whispered.

**More soon. Kendal-Rose... was the kiss ok? ;) Thank you again to everyone who writes such lovely reviews! xxx**


	37. Chapter 37

"He's AB negative. We're low on his type."

Connie opened the curtain to reveal Brendan, pacing the small square of flooring within the cubicle. Dr Knight and Robyn were conferring with Dr Hardy.

"Are we having a staff meeting in here that I wasn't informed about?"

She asked, looking from Ethan to Cal who flushed and lowered his chin.

"Uh, no..."

Ethan adjusted his glasses.

"Mr Taylor has been taken to theatre to repair a rupture in his lung...but it appears there may be some delay as we're waiting for bloods to be transferred."

He explained, glancing somewhat nervously to Brendan. He was taller than she remembered, and his body was stiff and ominous as he paced. He threw up his hands at Ethan's words.

**"**I'm O negative. Well that's the universal donor right?"

He stopped his pacing and placed his hands on his hips.

**"**Well, yes that's true, but.."

Ethan glanced hesitating to Connie who raised her eyebrows, hands placed firmly on her hips, Tristan standing close behind her.

"Mr Kinney, are you homosexual?"

He asked, a blotch of pink showing at the V of skin that his shirt revealed. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose again, flustered.

"What's that got to do with anything?!"

Brendan asked, frowning, his lip still sore from being sutured.

"You see the thing is, we can't allow you to donate your blood because of the risk of HIV..."

" I don't have HIV."

Brendan cut in sharply.

"It doesn't matter I'm afraid, It's an FDA regulation. You are considered to be too high of a risk."

Ethan stammered. Brendan laughed.

"Besides, it would need to go through all sorts of tests..screenings...it would be quicker just to wait..."

He added, lowering his voice, all to aware that Connie stood watching him.

**"**And what about all those straight studs and bitches who fuck around and don't use protection? I mean you take their blood, right?"

Brendan hissed, spitting blood as he spoke, his lip weeping again. 

"Mr Kinney, I'd advise you to calm down or I will have to call security."

Connie reached out to him but he shook his arm free.

**"**I don't give a shit! Take my blood mother fucker!"

As he raised his voice to Ethan, Tristan side-stepped Connie.

"Brendan."

He spoke quietly, taking Brendan by surprise.

"Sit."

He said simply, guiding Brendan back to the bed, pushing him gently back onto it so that the bed pressed into the back of his knees causing him to sit.

"Dr Hardy, Dr Knight, nurse Miller."

Connie looked to the three who stood meekly in a row against the curtain.

"Dr Cutler and I will take over from here."

She stepped away from the gap in the curtain so that they could file out back onto the ward.

"And next time, perhaps you could treat a patient each. I'm sure you can manage without holding each others hands."

She said, maintaining eye contact with Tristan as they left, filing past her.

Tristan sucked in his cheeks, arching an eyebrow at her as he stifled a smile.

She waited until the curtain was drawn behind her to step forward.

"Chin up."

She instructed, pulling a pair of gloves from the box on the side and slipping them onto her hands before inspecting the newly open cut at his lip. Gone were the days of cardiothorascis...

"I'll have to stitch it again."

She murmured, stepping back.

"Perhaps be a little more gentle with it next time."

She added, moving over to the table of various instruments to thread the needle.

Tristan busied himself with cleaning the blood away with antiseptic. Brendan winced as the cool cotton wool touched his mouth.

"No kissing, no yawning...no blow-jobs..."

He spoke in a hushed voice as he dabbed at the blood. Brendan smirked.

"Not until this has healed."

He added, tossing the used cotton wool into the bin.

"You can talk."

Brendan spoke stiffly, trying to keep his mouth still as Tristan raised a pair of tweezers to his lip to remove the broken stitches.

"Hmm?"

Tristan murmured, narrowing his eyes to see the loose threads.

"Don't tell me you just prefer the same shade of lip stick as Snow White over there?"

Brendan tried not to smile, noting the smudge of lipstick on Tristan's lip and the tell-tale twitch of his lips.

Connie glanced up, threading the needle against the light.

"I'm more of the wicked witch. Look up."

She instructed, tilting his chin back again as Tristan moved to the side out of her way.

"It's certainly been a while since I've touched someone that attractive..."

Tristan stifled an amused smile as Connie glanced up quickly, her eyes threatening.

Brendan leant forward.

"I don't mind you touching my arm if you want? Make it two?"

He offered.

"It's not quite the same..."

Tristan smiled, watching Connie stiffen.

"So, Lord of the Dance."

Brendan nudged Tristan with the toe of his shoe.

"Is she '_the one'?_"

He asked, wincing again as Connie numbed the area she intended to stitch.

Tristan smiled, his arms folded about his chest.

"What would you know about _the one, _hmm?"

He asked, deliberately avoiding the question.

Connie stepped back briefly to place the numbing gel back on the trolley, giving Brendan a few seconds before it began to take effect.

"I've had plenty of them..."

He muttered, his lip beginning to lose feeling.

"How will this look tonight? I had plans to go to the white party..."

He asked, loosing his train of thought and boarding another.

Tristan peered at him.

"I wouldn't."

He said simply. Brendan raised an eyebrow, his solid brown eyes slipping in his direction as Connie neared him with the needle.

"You won't feel a thing. Hold still please."

She crouched slightly to be able to see what she was doing.

"So what do you horny hetero's get up to on your nights out nowadays?"

He spoke slowly through the corner of his mouth, stopping upon noticing the purse of Connie's lips.

Tristan let the toe of his boot idly touch against the tip of Connie's shoe as she sewed.

"We're going to a party. A Halloween party."

He said, letting his toe wander up to Connie's ankle. Brendan smirked again and grunted as Connie pricked him.

"Hold still."

She breathed.

"You're welcome to come too. You won't have to worry about a costume..."

Tristan smiled again and Connie glanced up just in time to see the pink tip of his tongue between his teeth. She felt her cheeks glow as she remembered just moments before his tongue had been in her mouth. He caught her eye, tilting his head, frowning slightly, questioning her slightly startled expression.

"Fuck off..."

Brendan hissed.

Connie looked away, finishing the neat row of stitches in one fluid movement.

"All done."

She breathed, standing up straight and snipping off the thread close to the last knot.

"I'd have to be chemically depended just to show up. I'll be drunk, I'll be bored - not to mention better looking than most people there. I'll offend all the women, I'll heckle the host, dance on the table and inevitably fuck every good looking guy - gay, straight or undecided - in the place. Finally, I'll pass out - naked - bitching about the cheap booze. You'll lose your dignity, your friends and you'll have to carry me home..."

Brendan drawled, fingers pressed to his lip.

"I get the idea..."

Tristan drew his foot back as Connie moved to throw away the gloves she wore.

"Have fun though!"

Brendan added, pushing his tongue against his lip to feel the stitches from the inside.

"I'm sure we will..."

Tristan murmured, watching Connie tidy away the various pieces of equipment that she had used.

"I'm sure we will..."

**Tomorrow: The party, a fight, a confession, an ending and a beginning...xxx (And also much more Max!)**


	38. Chapter 38

The doorbell sounded, echoing throughout the hallway. Connie could hear the sound of her nanny padding across the landing upstairs after getting Grace off to sleep. She made her way to the door, opening it to the wild wind that swept inside.  
>"Evening..."<br>She smiled. Max stood on her doorstep, the moon shining behind him.  
>"You're taking this very seriously."<br>She murmured, taking in his attire. He stepped back, raising his arms.  
>"If you can't fulfil a childhood fantasy at a fancy dress party, when can you?"<br>He asked, pushing back the eye mask that he wore. He was dressed as batman, a full body costume complete with eye mask, and beneath he revealed his blue eyes rimmed with black eye-liner.  
>"Indeed."<br>She mused, suppressing a smile, her eyes glittering.  
>"And you, may I say, look...beautiful..."<br>He spoke, taking another step back as she joined him out on the path, pulling the door closed behind herself.  
>"No idea what you've come as though?"<br>He added, watching as she dropped her keys into the little black bag she had tucked under an arm.  
>She glanced up at him, the smile growing, blooming across her scarlet lips. She simply wore a long deep red cat suit that pinched in at the waist.<br>"I'm the Queen of Hearts."  
>She said, stepping ahead of him to where his car was parked. He followed her, his eyes firmly fixed upon her.<br>He bent down to open the door for her, seeing her hesitate on t he curb.  
>She murmured her thanks, glancing over the small Citroen as she bent to climb into it. Inside the car smelled faintly of cigarettes and coffee. She clicked her seatbelt in place whilst Max climbed in next to her.<br>"Ready?"  
>He asked, starting the engine.<br>She glanced out of the window, murmuring her response as the car began to pull away, her eyes watching the window of Grace's bedroom, her small pale face against the pane, watching her as she drove away.  
>The drive was short, and mainly spent in silence as Connie gazed out of the window, her mind on Grace, Tristan...and Max by her side.<br>He cleared his throat as they pulled into the road.  
>"Are you ok?"<br>He asked, breaking the silence. She blinked and turned to face him, a smile spreading across her lips.  
>"Fine. Shall we?"<br>She asked as he pulled up. She let her belt free and pushed against the door which failed to open.  
>"Oh, the handles dodgy, hold on."<br>He let himself out of his side of the car and made his way around to hers, pulling against the door to pop it free. She shuddered as the cool air met her legs and she stepped out into the moonlight, turning herself towards the street lamp momentarily to look through her bag to check her phone was switched on, and that the volume was turned up.  
>Robyn and Lofty were arriving as they stepped onto the pavement. Robyn's raucous laugh echoing down the road. She nudged Max as the stopped.<br>"What _do _you look like?!"  
>She laughed, looking at Max who looked his step-sister up and down.<br>"Says you!"  
>He grinned, looking at her pumpkin outfit, her orange hair piled up on top of her head with a little green stalk made of felt sticking out of the top.<br>"Isn't it a little bit...tight?"  
>She asked, raising an eyebrow, looking down at the tights he wore. HE followed her gaze.<br>"You can see your..."  
>She nodded to his groin.<br>"You can?!"  
>He looked up, mildly mortified, then shrugged, tilting his head, glancing to Connie who had finished fiddling with her phone and had turned around. Robyn;s eyes widened as she realised who she was.<br>"Mrs Beauchamp..."  
>She breathed, her mouth agape.<br>"Nothing wrong with a bit of Bowie bulge..."  
>Max sighed, still concerned with his outfit. Connie quirked an eyebrow.<br>"Pardon?"  
>She asked. Robyn's cheeks flushed a furious red and she looked to Lofty who mirrored her dismay.<br>"Bowie bulge? Have you not seen _Labyrinth_? I thought that was why that film was so popular with the _ladies_?"  
>Max asked, noticing Lofty beneath his white bed sheet.<br>"Ghost?"  
>He asked. Lofty nodded, glancing nervously to Connie.<br>"Could have tried harder..."  
>Max grinned again.<br>"Come on."  
>He gestured with both arms, ushering Robyn and Lofty to move ahead of them.<br>"I should have worn a mask."  
>Connie murmured, her voice low, her arm pressed against Max's as they entered the house.<br>"No, you really shouldn't..."  
>He turned, flashing her a quick wink before the house swallowed them whole. There was the dim sound of music, the lights were low and people massed about dressed in various colours and outfits. Connie glanced about the room, searching despite herself, looking for Tristan.<br>"Drink?"  
>Max asked over the noise. She nodded, frowning and following him into the kitchen where he set a bottle of wine down on the table and stepped aside to move over to the small make shift bar where someone was acting as barman.<br>"Two of your finest morphine mind-warpers, please barman."  
>He shouted, the music was louder here. Connie listened, feeling slightly more out of place than she had. She felt a hand on her back, it moved to her shoulder and a mouth pressed against her ear.<br>"Why Mrs Beauchamp, don't you look...lovely."  
>Tristan's accent was thick, swollen with alcohol and she could smell it on his breath. She turned to face him, his cheeks were flushed and the first four buttons of his shirt were undone, the tattoo on his chest just visible.<br>"You didn't dress up?"  
>She looked him over, he wore the same clothes as he did before but he gestured at her with a walking stick.<br>"Dr House."  
>He said, waving it and placing it back down, leaning against it.<br>"Did you come with him?"  
>He asked, nodding in the general direction of Max, she glanced back, Max was being served the drinks.<br>"He gave me a lift."  
>She said, averting her eyes to the throng of people near the sink who she recognised as neurologists.<br>"You two seem to be seeing a lot of one another."  
>He said, again leaning into her, she could feel his lips against her hair. She frowned, was he drunk?<br>He didn't wait for an answer, merely moved over to the table that people had littered with various bottle s of alcohol, he picked up a bottle, put it back down and picked up the bottle that Max had left just as he returned from the bar. He passed Connie her drink, a bright blue drink in a plastic cup.  
>"Wouldn't you rather have some wine?" He asked gesturing to the table of bottles.<br>"Take your pick, everything tastes shit in a plastic cup."  
>He added, running his thumb across the top of the wine bottle that he held.<br>"I bought that one."  
>Max spoke without much interest, taking a sip of his drink and wincing, his lips tinged and stained pale blue.<br>"Wise choice Mark."  
>Tristan murmured, peering at the bottle. The whites of his eyes were blood shot and he swayed slightly without the aid of the walking stick.<br>"Max..."  
>Max corrected faintly, taking another sip of the blue liquid.<br>"What does it say? Chateau de la Shite?"  
>Tristan asked, holding out the bottle. Max exhaled and rolled his eyes, turning away slightly.<br>"Let me guess...you bought the first bottle you saw at 4.99, because 2.99 is a bit low and a tenner's a bit too much. So you stand there and think 'I really should buy a Chablis but fuck it, it's only a party...'"  
>He cocked his head, his accent so thick and quick that they struggled to follow.<br>"So you end up with this!"  
>He continued, holding up the bottle again.<br>"I mean, you pay for what you get, and what you get is shite...am I right?"  
>He turned to Connie, holding out the bottle to her. She stood, holding her blue drink. She shook her head ever so slightly. Tristan bit his lip, smiled and placed the bottle back on the table.<br>"Shall we go somewhere else?"  
>Max leaned into her, speaking quietly, turning his face away from Tristan who's eyes seemed to bore down on him as they bulged from his head.<br>"What's that Mark? What are you dressed up as anyway? The love child of Wayne Sleep and Godzilla? Even if you were from the future you'd still be wrong. Do you know what I like about this outfit? ."  
>"Tristan..."<br>Connie placed a hand against his chest as he neared, his lip trembled as he spoke. Max laughed and shook his head, clearly at a loss as to what to say.  
>"Be nice."<br>Connie whispered. Tristan met her eyes, frowned and then looked back at Max.  
>"Are you fucking him?"<br>He asked suddenly, his voice cracking as he spoke so that he involuntarily cleared his throat. Connie recoiled from him, taken aback, aware of the interested parties scattered about the small kitchen.  
>"No!"<br>He laughed as she spoke.  
>"Because I don't want to be your fucking loser fuck buddy. I really don't. I don't want you to pity me. I don't want you to save me. I don't want any of it. I don't want you if you don't want me..."<br>He looked again to Max.  
>"Just me."<br>He added.  
>"Tristan.."<br>She began but he took a step forward so quickly that she thought he might hit her, Max made to move between them but Tristan raised a hand sharply, stopping just in front of Connie, his height giving him the advantage, his breath hot and laced with spirits.  
>"I'm positive you know. Is that why you're doing this? Did you sneak a look at my results and you're trying to let me down gently by parading this fucking eejit in front of my face? Huh?"<br>He spoke quietly but slowly. She watched his teeth catch the light, his eyes narrow, such a piercing spiteful blue had overcome the glittering beauty of them.  
>"What?"<br>She managed to ask, feeling herself leaning back, away from him.  
>"I'm fucking positive. I've got HIV..."<br>He hissed, and for a moment she thought he might cry, but instead he swallowed hard and took a step back, the realisation that she hadn't known surfacing.  
>"I.."<br>She began, her mouth was dry and she realised that she was clutching her drink so hard that her fingers were loosing their feeling.  
>"I thought you said earlier that you had something to celebrate?!"<br>She whispered, glancing back up at him.  
>"I do. I did."<br>He corrected himself.  
>"You're negative."<p><strong>More very soon x Thank you for the lovely reviews! xxx<strong> 


	39. Chapter 39

The clock began striking. Connie could hear it from where she stood on the landing, her back to the wall. Max stood beside her and every noe and then a trail of bodies passed them by. A young man slouched opposite them, so drunk he could hardly speak and green with nausea. He looked so sorry for himself but she did not pity him; with the clock striking the hour, one, two, three, she did not pity him, with all this going on. The whole house was throbbing with people and yet it seemed so still and quiet inside her head. But what an extraordinary night. She felt somehow very like him–the young man opposite who was killing himself with alcohol. She felt as he did, as if that was all there was to do with this moment, with life; to look life in the face, to know it, and then to throw it away. The clock was striking again, someone was messing about with it. The leaden circles of noise dissolved in the air.  
>"Fuck."<br>She whispered, exhaling the weight of the world from her shoulders, letting her head fall back against the wall. Max glanced up at her.  
>"You didn't know then."<br>He said quietly. She shook her head.  
>Someone passing by careered into her, pinching her shoulder against the wall before he staggered back to is feet.<br>"Doctor!"  
>He exclaimed.<br>"Are you a doctor?"  
>He looked suddenly confused and peered at her closely. His breath stunk of vomit and his clothes of stale sweat.<br>"I am. Could you be drunk?"  
>She murmured, recoiling back from him and placing a hand over her face. He leant back, taking the hint.<br>"Can you get a veruca on your penis?"  
>He asked, his voice a stage whisper.<br>Connie coughed against th smell.  
>"I can't, can you?"<br>She turned her face to Max who raised his eyebrows, taking a sip of his drink more for something to take his mind off the stench of this swaying drunk youth.  
>"No. Pretty good at most parlour games though..."<br>He spoke, clearing his throat against the burn of the drink.  
>"A friend of mine fell knob first into a foot bath at a swimming pool, he was wondering, that's all. I'm not interrupting anything am I?"<br>The man swayed again and frowned, his eyebrows knitting together inbetween his eyes.  
>"Just the evolution of mankind."<br>Connie answered, a tight smile at her lips. The man backed away slowly, nodding thoughtfully, seeming to forget suddenly that he had even been speaking to them as he wandered off in the vague direction of wherever it was that he was goibng.  
>Connie exhaled and waved a hand in front of her face to clear the air. There was a squealing sound and someone ran along the landing wheilding a cucumber and a condom.<br>"What the fuck are they doing with that?!" Max asked, following them with a look of disbelief.  
>"Who knows..."<br>She murmured, raising her drink to her lips, pausing, glancing at it and lowering it back odwn again.  
>Another body pushed against them.<br>"Condom race? Who can put the most condoms on a cucmber?"  
>The girl asked them, her cheeks were flushed scarlett and her eye make up was smudged.<br>"Uh...no."  
>Max answered before Connie had a chance to reply.<br>"Sorry."  
>He whispered. Leaning into her.<br>"What for?""  
>She asked, glancing to him, his face was next to hers, his eyes caught the light from along the hallway.<br>"On behalf of these people that I have never met before."  
>He shrugged as he spoke and averted his eyes as another group passed by.<br>"I mean, condoms on cucumbers can't be your idea of a good night out..."  
>He added, glancing sideways at her, a smile at his lips.<br>She looked down again at the blue drink.  
>"I knew how to put a condom on a cucumber before I knew how to drive."<br>She mused, catching the surprised look that flutered across his face. She smiled.  
>"I can't say this is my ideal night out...no."<br>She added quetly.  
>He reached out and took the drink from her hand, putting her glass inside his own and leaning back to place them on the stairs behind them.<br>"Yeah, well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come back to mind, but now I'm not so sure."  
>He said, his voice straining as he leant back.<br>"Why not?"  
>She asked, watching as he moved.<br>"A cucumber is a lot to live up to."  
>He bit his lip as he spoke, smiling through his teeth.<br>She looked away.  
>"Sorry...sorry...innapropriate...and with Dr Cutler...sorry..."<br>He ran a hand across the back of his head, mentally berating hijmself for his stupidity. Connie wasnt like the women he was used to, and it was taking some time to find his groove with her.  
>She sucked in a breath, barely contemplating what he had said before she pushed herself from the wall into the centre of the hallway.<br>"Lead the way."  
>She said simply.<br>**More soon xxx**  
><strong>Kendal-Rose: Well done for guessing! Tristan will appear again soon x<strong>  
><strong>Jazz: I've had several messagesreviews commenting on how 'sexy' Tristan is! Who knows who she will end up with! (apart from me...) ;) x**  
><strong>ConstanceBeauchamp: Never fear, Connie to the rescue...x (more Max too)<strong>  
><strong>M-is-for-MollyMansfieldMealing: Thank you! Your last review made me smile for most of the day x<strong>  
><strong>And to everyone else who reviews so frequently too, thank you so much! xxx<strong>


	40. Chapter 40

"What are you going to do?"

Max asked, busying himself in the small kitchen while Connie sat at the fold down dining table, rubbing something sticky from the side of her hand from the table.

"There's nothing I can do. I can't change the fact that he's positive."

She said with a hunch of her shoulders. It was cold in the house and the chair she sat in was uncomfortable and creaked unnervingly beneath her.

"I meant about your...relationship?"

He asked, setting down a mug of something in front of her. She peered at it through the rising steam.

"What is it?"

She asked.

"Hot chocolate."

He said. She squinted through the steam at the flecks of brown across it's top.

"Your cinnamon looks rancid."

She mused, assuming the flecks to be the spice that she could smell.

"It's not cinnamon, its a special kind of chilli pepper."

He answered, pouring himself a mug and joining her at the table. It swayed slightly and the legs grated against the tile floor as he rested his elbows either side of his mug.

"Chilli pepper in hot chocolate?"

She repeated. He nodded.

"Mm-hm. It'll give you a lift."

He said, raising his own mug to his lips and blowing so that the steam rose up then billowed out before him over the rim of the chipped white mug.

She eyed it suspiciously but followed his lead nonetheless, taking the mug, somewhat gingerly, haldf expecting the handle to fall off in her hand, and raised it to her lips. She sipped it, the heat of it kicked the roof of her mouth, she swallowed, the warmth emanated from her throat, flushing her cheeks and making her smile.

"Ok?"

He asked, his smile hiding behind his cup. She eyed him, allowing herself to relax slightly.

"So...you didn't answer me."

He said, leaning back in his chair the way boys had done at school, so that the chair wobbled only on two legs and made her nervous.

"Hmm?"

She murmured.

"Your relationship."

He said, his voice flat.

She sighed into the hot chocolate.

"I don't think you could quite call it that."

She said vaguely, taking another sip.

"So what can you call it?"

He asked. She looked at him again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. She thought about Tristan. And for the first time she realised she hadn't any idea of what to call it. It had started, and it had continued, without her pausing to wonder what it was, or indeed it would mean to him.

She opened her mouth despite not having anything of real importance to say, but she was stopped by a ringing of the door bell. Max glanced to the clock. It was 11:26PM.

He remained still, but the bell rang again, longer this time.

"Wait here."

HE said, standing and leaving the room. She listened to the pad of his bare feet as he moved to the front door, the pull and squeak of it on it's hinges and the quiet murmur of voices.

Max returned a moment later, looking somewhat concerned.

"It's...Brendan?"

He frowned as he spoke and it took a moment for Connie to register who Brendan was.

She stood up.

"Is he coming in?"

She asked, Max shook his head, following her out of the kitchen and to the door.

"I need to speak to you."

Brendan spoke before she was even at the door.

"Are you ok?"

She asked, his face was pale and he hugged his leather jacket about himself. He nodded.

"I'm not here for me. It's Tristan."

His teeth chattered as he spoke.

"I need to speak to you outside."

He added, glancing to Max over her shoulder.

"Now."

**More again soon. I apologise if there was an awful amount of spelling mistakes in the previous update? I realised just a moment ago that I didn't re-read it before I posted it! Any idea how this BETA reading malarkey works?!**

**xxx**


	41. Chapter 41

**Hello everyone, just a quick note to say that I haven't deserted the stories that I'm writing. I've come down with a horrible cold/flu so am trying to get over that before my birthday this weekend! Lots of rest needed, and I will update as soon as my eyes can bare to look at a screen long enough! (not long) **

**xxx**


	42. Chapter 42

"What the fuck are you doing?"  
>Brendan asked. His words billowed in a dance of white air that fluttered from his lips and danced above them. He was shivering, his lips were pale and his arms folded tightly about his chest, his fingers bare.<br>"Excuse me?"  
>Connie asked incredulously, watching as Brendan shifted from one foot to the other. He lowered his chin into the upturned collar of his leather jacket.<br>"With the por-tard?"  
>He hissed.<br>Connie felt the cold begin to penetrate her clothes and she folded her arms tightly, mirroring him.  
>"I'm sorry?"<br>Her words were sharp and clipped and her eyes searched his face furiously.  
>"You don't hurt Tristan."<br>He said simply. Behind him the horns of distant cars honked, tires squealed and people shouted in the streets.  
>Connie raised her eyebrows.<br>"He fucking adores you! And you're off fucking some porter after he tells you he's fucking HIV positive?!"  
>He lowered his voice even further, but despite his attempts to hush himself his words still gained the attention of a group of passer-bys.<br>Connie reached out, her hand tightening on his arm and pulled him into the shadows at the side of the house.  
>"You do not speak to me like that..."<br>"I will speak to you how you deserve to be spoken to..."  
>He cut her off with a whisper so full of venom that for a moment she was left speechless, her mouth agape.<br>"Tristan went to that party tonight because of _you. _For _you. _To celebrate _you _getting a negative result even though he was positive. Tristan is _my _friend, and because of you he is sitting at my house right now crying like a fucking baby because he's lost you to _him. _Because he's so fucking terrified of a life with fucking HIV that he would rather end it than deal with it."  
>"Oh! Don't be so melodramatic..."<br>She cut in sharply.  
>He stopped speaking abruptly, his whole body was trembling, although Connie now assumed it to be with rage, not the cold that so bitterly delved within her bones. She opened her mouth to speak again, thought better of it and instead whispered.<br>"Take me to him."  
>She said, moving to step forward but he caught her by the arm. She met his gaze, her glare clashing with his and faltering just for a moment as she felt how strong he was, and how much taller he was than her.<br>"I think he's had enough of women using him, don't you?"  
>He hissed through his straight white teeth.<br>She blinked.  
>"Mr Kinney, with all due respect, you have no idea what the situation is..."<br>He laughed, his breath warm on her face.  
>"Sarah was the love of his life. She slapped him about, used him for his sperm then threw him out. And you. What do you do? Find them, feel them, fuck them and forget them? Huh?"<br>He asked, cocking his head to one side so that his dark hair fell over one eye.  
>"And your one night stand was..."<br>She began, tailing off, her eyes glittering.  
>"Honest."<br>He whispered.  
>"Really!"<br>She laughed, shaking her head.  
>"He knew I didn't believe in love. I believe in fucking. It's honest, it's efficient. You get in and out with a maximum of pleasure, and a minimum of bullshit. Love is something that straight people tell themselves they're in, so they can get laid. Then they end up hurting each other, because it was all based on lies to begin with."<br>She laughed again as he spoke.  
>"That's ridiculous."<br>"Is it?"  
>He asked, straightening his head and tossing back his hair with a hand before tucking it back under his arm. She paused, her eyes narrowed, her lips partially open, expelling white breath between them.<br>"The more you know, the harder you will find it to make up your mind, it doesn't really matter if you find it. You can't see which grass is greener, chances are it's neither and either way it's easier to see the difference when you're sitting on the fence."  
>He whispered. Her frown deepened and he gestured toward Max's front door.<br>"You can't have both."  
>He said quietly, stepping back away from her, glancing again to Max who had appeared and was peering out at them, concerned, his eyes straining to see them in the dark.<p>"Sometimes walking away is best. I should know. It's my speciality."<p>

He added as he stepped away, turning his back on her, moving slowly out of sight beyond the bend in the road.

She exhaled quickly, just watching for a moment the space in which Brendan had occupied. She thought about what he'd said, her head ached and she heard Max call to her. She let out another breath and looked over to him. He stood, illuminated by the light from the door, he no longer wore his batman outfit, just a dark blue jumper and a pair of jeans.

She moved over to him, her heels sinking into the soft grass of his front garden.

"Alright?"

He asked as she approached. He was leaning against the door frame, his expression taught with unease. She nodded slightly and he looked over her shoulder to where Brendan had left.

"What did he want?"

He asked, reaching out a hand to her as she stepped off the grass and onto the door step in front of him. Without thinking she accepted his hand, her fingers cold within his palm.

She looked up at him, his eyes were tired. It must be early morning by now.

"Is Tristan Ok..?"

He asked when she failed to answer, but instead of replying she reached up with her other hand and placed a fingertip to his lips, letting it pause only briefly, silencing him before letting her hand fall back down between them as she rose up on tip toes, her heels slipping from her shoes as she placed a soft kiss against his mouth, pushing herself against him so that he had no choice but to step back into the house, the door clicking shut behind them.

**More soon xxx**


	43. Chapter 43

As the door clicked shut behind them he kissed her back, hesitantly at first, unsure as to whether or not she meant to continue.  
>She pushed him back against the wall, stumbling slightly over a cardboard box full of Robyn's knitting.<br>She felt his hands linger at her sides, not quite touching her and raised as if in surrender. She pushed her fingers into his hair, tailing her nails across the nape of his neck, kissing him with hot open mouthed kisses and pushing herself harder against him so that he had no choice but to touch her.  
>His hands touched her shoulders, her upper arms, slipping from her elbows to her waist where he seemed content to let them lay, drawing them about her back to hold her against him whilst his tongue slipped between her lips. He tasted of cigarettes and again her mind jolted back to the first, almost accidental time when they had kissed.<br>She pulled back suddenly, her lips swollen and pink, she looked at him, eyes wide, her breath coming quickly. He frowned ever so slightly.  
>"Don't tell me you're regretting it already..."<br>He murmured, the wobble of an unsure smile twitching his lips. She shook her head, mute, and reached a hand to touch the hair that covered his forehead.  
>He was so different.<br>She tilted her head, moving to kiss him again.  
>"You don't have to..."<br>He began, but she shook her head again against him, brushing her lips against his so that they parted, touching the tip of her tongue against his and tugging with her hand against the back of his neck whilst her other hand slipped easily from his shoulder to the hem of his jumper.  
>Beneath it she found hot flesh that trembled as she eased her cold fingers beneath it. He smiled against her lips, trying not to flinch away from the chill of her touch.<br>"Cold."  
>He whispered. She kissed him harder.<br>"I'll warm you up."  
>She murmured, pushing free the stiff metal button of his jeans, running the zip down slowly so that they gaped open, hanging loosely at his hips.<br>He touched her hair, moving his hands for the first time since they had loitered at her waist. She felt his heart thud beneath his chest, beating against her own, and his breath quicken as she pushed against the denim of his jeans so they fell to his feet where he kicked them off.  
>He cupped a hand at the back of her head, pulling slightly at her hair so that she tilted her head back, he dipped his head, licking a line of kisses along the curve of her jaw, biting gently at the skin just behind her ear. She arched against him, biting her lip against a smile and shrugged her shoulders free of her straps as he pushed against them with both hands. He eased the zip at her side down to her hip where his fingers paused, his kisses briefly abating while he glanced down, watching the red fabric slip from her body into a pool on the floor, out of which she stepped with muddied heels that left soft brown marks on the fabric that she stepped on.<br>She shivered against the cold, a draft buffeting in through the letterbox that puttered and vibrated in it's slot as the wind caught it. He curled an arm about her waist, letting his thumb stroke against her skin, feeling the chill that prickled her and pulling her close, leaning her back against the opposite wall, her head just below the light fitting.  
>He kissed her again, harder this time, and the taste of cigarettes began to fade, and instead she tasted him, and as she gasped for breath she smelled the faint musky smell of his sweat and felt his hands push down her underwear and his fingers grasp either thigh, tugging them about him, lifting her with ease and pushing her harder against the wall. She felt the top of her head graze the light fitting and as he pushed her she felt her teeth knock against his own so that she bit her lip.<br>She tightened her grip about him, tensing the muscles in her legs, curling herself around him as he lowered her down so that he could push inside her.  
>She felt her calf muscles spasm slightly and her body pushed against him, pulling him closer as he moved against her, inside of her.<br>He bit down on her neck and she shivered with pleasure. He pushed with one hand against the wall, the other at her back, his fingers digging into her skin so hard that she could feel them rub against her vertebrae.  
>She let her head fall back, she could feel, with every movement he made, the pleasure building within her. She let her eyes close, the light above her head glowing scarlet through her eyelids until she squeezed them shut and the light turned violet as she shuddered against him, and she pushed the back of her hand into her mouth as he came inside her, her head, still knocking against the wall, her breath catching in her throat and she closed her eyes tighter than before as tears leaked from their corners and her lips trembled. An uncontrollable groan of despair caught tight within her throat as he fell flaccid against her, her legs still held about his waist, his face buried against her neck and a hand at her breast.<br>How different he was...  
><strong>More soon. I hope everyone is still enjoying it, and not too concerned about Connie's (apparent) lack of concern (and morals) All will become clear xxx<strong> 


	44. Chapter 44

Connie walked through the hospital entrance, a bluster of autumn wind sending a tail of leaves scuttling at her heels where they blew and loitered in reception.

She moved past Noel who waved a pile of envelopes at her which she took with the brief nod of her head before passing through the double doors into the corridor towards her office, and with every step she took she could feel the burn of her inner thighs, where her muscles had been pulled tight against Max's pelvis.

She felt her body shiver involuntarily, although with pleasure or unease she couldn't quite tell.

She ran a hand through her hair, unlocked the office door, closed it firmly behind herself and stood with her back to it for a moment. The room was icy cold, she could just about see her breath as she breathed.

Placing the pile of envelopes neatly on the desk she dropped her bag at the foot of the chair and settled herself into it. Mentally preparing herself for another day.

She felt her mind beginning to wander, felt the flicker of last night at the edges of her memory. She shook her head as if it would shake the thoughts from her mind.

He'd kissed her again whilst he was still inside her. She'd blinked back the tears and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, wet from the hot breath of her mouth.

He hadn't noticed the smudge of her mascara or the tremble of her lips against his as he'd kissed her and led her to bed...

She pushed her fingers into the bridge of her nose and let her eyes fall closed before the inevitable knock at the door.

She looked up.

"Come."

She called, clearing her throat.

Tess opened the door, her cheeks flushed as she nodded a quick greeting, her eyes moving fleetingly to the side counter where she had caught Tristan and herself...

"You're needed in RESUS."

She spoke quickly and glanced briefly at the notes that she held in one hand. Connie exhaled loudly and leant back in her chair.

"I asked Dr Cutler, but..."

"I'm sorry?"

Connie let her hand fall back to the desk, her body tensing.

"He said he'd hurt his hand?"

Tess continued warily, her head tilted to one side as she watched the expression on Connie's face turn from one of confusion to determination.

She stood quickly and Tess backed out of her way before she reached the door, leaving the nurse to close it behind her as she moved sharply along the corridor towards RESUS.

She pushed one of the double doors open so hard that it continued swinging back and forth as she reached the patient. She glanced to the bed, a young girl was laying with her head in a collar. Tristan stood by her bedside, her notes in his hand while Dr Knight leant over her, shining a light into her eyes. He glanced up as he flicked the torch from one pupil to the other, checking her responses.

"Mrs Beauchamp. To what do we owe this please...?"

He murmured, looking her up and down with a smile. She looked past him to Tristan who had failed to look up from the notes.

"Dr Cutler."

She said, her voice was cool and clipped. He folded the notes closed and placed them on the nearby instrument trolley before he looked up at her, arms folding across his chest, his jaw set, defiance clouding his eyes.

"What are you wearing?"

She asked, lowering her voice.

He cocked his head.

"It's a white coat. It's exactly the same as the one Dr Knight here is wearing, only mine is a _tiny _bit whiter."

He answered slowly. His voice sounded different, no longer did it have that far away Irish lilt,but now it was so very present in the room and the romance of his accent had given way to a harsher tone that startled her.

"Can I see you in my office, please?"

She found herself almost whispering, feeling the eyes of both Dr Knight and the patients mother upon her.

"You can. Once I've finished treating the patient."

Again he spoke so firmly, so uncharacteristically slowly.

"Dr Cutler..."

She exhaled as she spoke, she could feel the tension in her shoulders rising and her neck beginning to ache.

He looked over at her again. He seemed to be thinking something over before he pursed his lips, pushed his hands into his pockets and made his way over to her.

He stopped in front of her, so close that she could almost touch him. She took a step back, inhaling as she did so, and somewhere at the back of her brain was surprised at the lack of peppermint on his breath.

"Outside."

She whispered, swallowing hard. He looked down at her, his eyes steady and calm and for a moment she wondered if he might refuse. But instead he moved suddenly and opened the door, letting it swing back behind him so that she had to quicken her pace to catch up with him.

He was paused on the other side of the door, just standing in the middle of the corridor. Max stood, wheelchair in hand looking back at him, his jaw flexing , his hands tightening on the wheelchair handles. Robyn and Lofty stood by his side, their faces paling at the sight of Connie.

She looked from Max, to Robyn and Lofty, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit her.

"Am I the only one who does any work around here?"

She exhaled as she spoke and Robyn attempted a smile.

"Uh. Yeah. We were just..."

Max tilted his head, gesturing to the gaggle of student doctors who were gathered about the vending machine in the distance, a young blonde nurse showing them how it worked.

"Have you seen them? The student doctors? A woman turns up..."

He paused awkwardly, raising a hand to rub at the back of his head, looking to Connie and noticing the blur of a mark on her neck.

"A frankly pretty ordinary woman, and they're all like bees around a honey pot."

He muttered, shifting uneasily within the dark red t-shirt that he wore.

Robyn looked at him, mortified.

"No."

Tristan spoke, taking all of them by surprise.

"Sorry?"

Max asked, glancing again to Connie who shook her head ever so slightly in warning, she watched as Tristan's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

"No, bees make honey, don't they. Yeah?"

Tristan asked, somewhat patronisingly. Max looked to Lofty who shrugged unhelpfully.

"Dr Cutler..."

Connie murmured, but he held up a hand.

"I'm just saying. Why are bees bothering with a pot of honey? Why not stay back at the hive, where there's as much honey as they could want? Why fly all the way down to the supermarket, or somebody else's house, or where ever this honey pot is...the vending machine...when there is plenty of honey at home?"

He asked with such enthusiasm as to almost convince them that he was genuinely interested.

"Well...flies round a honey pot then."

Max offered, glancing almost repeatedly to Connie who remained several feet behind Tristan's back, her face white against the sharp brown of her hair that fell about her shoulders.

"Flies prefer shit."

Tristan answered.

Max looked again to Lofty to no avail. And Robyn looked about her as though looking for something to take her away from the situation.

"Well...wasps..."

Max whispered.

"The fact is that it makes men look like a sad and desperate species."

Lofty added. Connie rolled her eyes, watching the tense of Tristan's body through his coat.

"So you probably think that the world would be a better place if everybody was a little bit more like you...yeah?"

Tristan looked to Lofty, head cocked, a lazy smile at his Irish lips.

Lofty flushed and shrugged, looking helplessly at Max.

"Well no."

Continued Tristan, his accent growing stronger the more frustrated he seemed to become.

"Because then, of course there would be a great surge in lesbianism."

He spat, to which Lofty's cheeks coloured even more. Connie stepped forward, reached out and placed a hand on Tristan's elbow.

"Dr Cutler."

She spoke so quietly that Max, Lofty and Robyn barely heard, only saw her lips move. Tristan glanced sideways, looking pointedly down to where her hand lay, just staring at her fingers until slowly she slipped them away.

"Well..."

Lofty fumbled for something to say.

"Who asked you anyway..."

He muttered, wincing at his own words as he spoke.

"I think you did actually, about two minutes ago."

Tristan said, glancing sideways again, this time to Connie who caught his eye. He met her eye, his gaze lingering for a moment before moving to her neck, to the tell-tale bruise beneath her flesh.

"Oh!"

He turned quickly and pointed at Max.

"Any news on the other thing?"

He asked. Max frowned.

"What other thing?"

He asked, his expression guarded.

"On whether earrings are back in fashion?"

He gestured to the gold hoop earring that hung from Max's right earlobe. Connie noticed it too. She'd sucked it into her mouth the night before whilst he held her down against the mattress of his bed...

"No? No news? You'll keep me posted?"

He asked, finally moving, taking a step so quickly and turning on his heel sharply so that Max flinched as he passed him by.

"It's not real...wanker."

Hissed Max, raising a hand to his earring that Robyn had insisted he wore as part of his outfit for the previous night.

Tristan turned at the end of the corridor, his white coat billowing about his legs, Connie stopped, level with Max.

"I'm sorry, was that an insult? Only I didn't hear it, I was about 20 yards down the corridor. Shall I report you for the earring? Are porters allowed earrings?"

Tristan shot a glance to Connie who remained still and open mouthed.

"Most women find male-body piercing repugnant. I, thankfully, am completely intact. You'd have thought they'd have drawn a line at piercing arse holes."

He added, the glint of victory burning deep within his eyes as he turned again, the backward wave of a hand and the flick of a middle finger as he disappeared around the corner.

Connie turned to Max. Lofty and Robyn stood, mirroring her, mouths agape. She looked from one to the other, and without saying a word, she left, moving away from them, her heels clacking sharply as she followed Tristan's footsteps.

**More soon! xxx**


	45. Chapter 45

Connie closed the door to the office and turned, standing with her back to it, her arms folded across her chest. Tristan stood on the far side of the room, his back to her, looking out of the window, she could only just see the curve of his cheek and the edge of his lips in the half-light.

"Tristan..."

She whispered, but he failed to respond.

She flicked the tip of her thumb nail with her index finger, finding a hang nail and pushing at it repeatedly.

"You know very well that you'll be unable to continue working here."

She began.

"As a surgeon in any case. I'm sure there are plenty of research positions that..."

He turned as she spoke and she let her words tail off into the silence. He still wore the white coat, his arms hung limply at his sides and his face unreadable.

"Is that what we're here to talk about, is it?"

He asked, his words seemed slow and to run into one another as though he'd been drinking.

She let her head fall slightly to one side, questioning. His eyes fell again to the mark on her neck, lingering there for a moment before looking back at her.

"How did he compare?"

He asked, showing the palms of his hands as he shrugged.

She frowned, looking away, glancing back to the door.

"That good huh."

He laughed humourlessly as he spoke and she found herself looking back at him, the bitter taste of bile rising at the back of her throat.

"Please..."

She whispered. He bit his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes, regarding her with such a knowing stare that she once again was forced to look away.

"It's just, the thing is, that when _we _had sex, I didn't close my eyes and imagine someone else naked. So I was just wondering what I had to compete with..."

He paused, seeming to change tact.

"Was he worth it?"

He asked, his voice softer.

Connie inhaled slowly, wondering again whether or not she had locked the door when they had entered.

"You locked it."

He whispered.

She smiled despite herself.

"So are you going to answer or is this just going to be me asking you questions that you refuse to answer?"

He asked, moving forwards and placing his hands on the back of her chair. She looked at his fingers, his skin pulled tight, his bones showing through beneath the soft pale skin.

"You don't understand..."

She breathed, knowing full well that she barely understood the situation herself. Everything that had happened seemed vastly out of her control.

"Understand what?"  
>He asked, tightening his grip on the chair. She sighed, at a loss for words.<p>"<strong>You know what, I think it's you that doesn't understand."<strong>

He said, biting his lip again. She felt her forehead crease with a frown.

"Understand what?"

She asked, repeating him. He shrugged again and let go of the seat, throwing his hands up casually as he did so.

"Oh I don't know? What it's like to wake up every morning and remember 'oh yeah, I've got this thing,' because you don't have this thing...you know? You'll never have to take a mouthful of meds, never knowing when they'll stop working, never knowing when a fucking cough or a fucking sniffle may land you in the hospital, because to you, Connie, it will be just a fucking cough or a fucking sniffle! And if I wanted to kiss you, or fuck you even if we were protected, even then, there is still this shitty nagging doubt that maybe, just maybe you could get infected..."

He struggled to suck in a breath and then seemed to almost smile.

"Sorry, I'm sure your porter has put paid to that anyway..."

He said quietly, his jaw tensing visibly at his cheeks.

"He's not _my _porter."

She whispered.

"Oh really?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"Because I get the impression that he's pretty smitten with you..."

She looked down at the floor, to her feet, her shoes..how muddy they still were...

She pushed her fingers against the bridge of her nose and inhaled slowly.

"That's not my problem."

She whispered, watching as he threw up his hands in disbelief.

"Not your problem?!"

He laughed.

"So this is what you do is it? You take some sort of sordid pleasure in making men fall in love with you and then you move onto the next one?"

She shook her head as he spoke, blinking quickly against the tears that seemed to prick her eyes. She would not cry.

"No? What then...?"

He hissed, his cheeks seemed to flame with colour and he too seemed to blink back against the lump that ached within his throat.

"What then?!"

He asked again, but she couldn't speak for the knot at the back of her mouth that throbbed so painfully and stopped her from speaking.

He pushed her chair from him with a clatter as it knocked against her desk making her jump. She took an unsteady step back as he moved towards her.

"Fuck you."

He shouted. He passed her by, his coat flapping against her thigh.

"Fuck you..."

He stopped as he reached the door and she noticed how his hand trembled as he held the handle.

"It's hard enough loving one person.But if you're the one that the other two are in love with, you can break both their hearts.**.."**

He was only a couple of feet from her but she could feel the closeness between them that they had built up over the past weeks crumble further out of sight.

"I thought that what we had was the start of a relationship."

He spoke again, and again his voice changed, quieter, calmer, with an eerie lack of emotion.

"You've just made a fool of me. Is that what you want? To make me look an eejit?"

He asked, his eyes wide and blue, catching the faint autumn sunshine that bloomed out from behind a cloud.

She shook her head and placed her fingers to her lips, feeling her bottom lip begin to quiver.

"That's not what I want. ..I want you..."  
>She managed to say, her voice so strained and thin.<br>"You cant have me."  
>He said quickly, making her flinch.<p>"Because what use is it if I love you, hmm? Really? I can't give you children, I can't fuck you without worrying I'm going to infect you with this..with this..."<p>

He faltered, at a loss for words, his hand shaking again as he struggled to continue.

"I'd rather you were happy with someone who can give you everything that I can't. I don't want you to end up caring for me when my immune system fucks up and I'm on my death bed wasting away. I don't want to drag you down with me."

His words fell into a whisper and she took a step forward without thinking, meaning to reach out for him but not quite able to bring herself to do it.

"there's nothing to say that you can't live a perfectly normal...lengthy...life..."  
>She began, but the raise of his eyebrows stopped her.<br>"Next you'll be telling me that just because I'm positive doesn't mean I'm going to be the first to go. Hell, it could be you. You could step out in the street, get hit by a Mercedes compressor. So much classier than a bus. Go down to the post office to buy a stamp, get blown away by a disgruntled postal worker. In case you haven't noticed these days, they're all disgruntled..."  
>He sighed and she inhaled sharply, closing her eyes as she spoke.<br>"I don't want you to be alone."  
>She said eventually, begrudging herself for her sliver of honesty. But all he did was shrug.<br>"That's how we all came in. That's how we're all going out."  
>He said, as casually as if he was reading the menu from a board in a restaurant.<br>"Besides. Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more. It's contrast."  
>He added with another raise of his shoulders and quirk of his head.<br>"Don't say that..."  
>She whispered. He Pouted slightly.<br>"Why not? Death should be a celebration. Like a birthday. I want to go up like a rocket when my time comes, and I want to fall down in a cloud of stars, and hear everyone go, 'ah!"  
>He looked somewhat taken aback at his own honesty, almost laughing at himself for being so uncharacteristically poetic at a time like this. He looked down at his hand, waiting there on the door handle, waiting for him to push down and open the door.<br>"Just answer me one thing, before I go."  
>He breathed. She gave a slight nod of her head.<br>"If I hadn't have got infected with...HIV. Could you have fallen in love with me?"  
>He asked, his voice a whisper.<br>She let her head fall to one side and again her lip gave a threatening tremble and her vision momentarily blurred as she blinked away the tears again. She drew up her shoulders in a half shrug, letting them fall with a click of her shoulder blade.  
>"I already have."<br>She whispered.  
><strong>More soon...please let me know what you think and what you'd like to see happen (I enjoy hearing people's theories and wishes!) xxx<strong> 


	46. Chapter 46

She stood in the door way. Unable to close the door behind him, watching the gentle swing of his white coat as he disappeared out of sight around a bend in the corridor.  
>She exhaled a trembling breath through dry lips.<br>She had told him. She had told him that she loved him but he had walked away anyway. Truth had run through her fingers and every drop of it had escaped, but still it hadn't been enough to make him stay.  
>She touched her fingertips against her lips, they felt dry as paper as she rubbed them, remembering how it had felt to kiss him, how he had tasted, and whispered to her...<br>And now he was gone. She assumed he was nearing the hospital exit by now.  
>Someone coughed behind her, she felt her stomach jolt and she let herself slip back into the room, allowing whoever it was to pass her by, but instead they stopped just outside of her door.<br>"Knock, knock."  
>Brendan relaxed his long body against the hard wood of her door frame. She inhaled stiffly and moved to her desk where she began rearranging papers, ignoring him.<br>"Can I come in?"  
>He asked.<br>She raised an eyebrow, looking back at him from beneath a wave of hair that fell from behind her ear.  
>"You seem to be spending an awful lot of time here."<br>She said quietly.  
>He pursed his lips and raised a hand to inspect his nails.<br>"It's the only place I can see Justin without having my head kicked in by his psycho father."  
>He said with a shrug.<br>"Ah."  
>Connie breathed, standing a pile of papers on end and shuffling them within her hands so that they stood straight before setting them back down again.<br>"So...can I come in?"  
>He asked again. She folded her arms across her waist.<br>"Can I ask what for?"  
>She asked as he used the heel of his boot to manoeuvre the door closed behind himself.<br>He shrugged and moved over to the work top, running a hand across it as he looked out of the blinds, watching the busy mass of patients and staff passing by in the distance.  
>"Mr Kinney..."<br>She coaxed with an exasperated breath as she watched him turn to face her. He looked her up and down.  
>"Have you ever thought of a new look...something less...severe?"<br>He asked cocking his head. She frowned.  
>"I'm sorry?"<br>She asked, not following.  
>"Sorry...I thought women liked talking about clothes..."<br>He spoke as if he were distracted by something.  
>"Mr Kinney, I really haven't got the time..."<br>"Can I ask your advice about something?"  
>He asked, cutting her off, biting off the end of her words.<br>She looked at him, his hands on his hips, his black shirt pulled tight about his chest and tucked awkwardly into the black leather trousers, the elastic of his underwear caught on the hem of his shirt. She met his eyes.  
>"Your shirt tucked into your underwear doesn't really work for you."<br>She said simply, watching as his expression changed and he glanced down at himself, tugging free the fabric of his shirt so that it fell back down against his trousers.  
>"Fuck..."<br>He whispered.  
>"No...look...it's not about clothes...it's about something more serious."<br>He sighed, smoothing down the hem of his shirt self consciously. She tilted her head and a smile touched at her lips.  
>"More serious than clothes? I don't understand?"<br>She asked, feigning ignorance. He exhaled loudly and rolled his eyes.  
>"I want you to test me."<br>He said, lowering his voice.  
>"Test you?"<br>She repeated, her smile replaced by the furrow of a frown between her eyes.  
>He folded his arms tightly across his chest so that the folds of his shirt pulled and puckered against him.<br>"For HIV."  
>He said, speaking even quieter now, as if he thought that someone may over hear them.<br>She narrowed her eyes.  
>"You said you were clear..."<br>"I know what I said..."  
>He closed his eyes and ran a hand across his forehead before looking back at her, his eyes suddenly taking on the appearance of someone older, someone worn out from the life that they were living, and she had the overwhelming feeling that she was the only one in the world to have seen this side to him, she suspected because she was a woman.<br>"Aren't you and Justin...careful?"  
>She asked slowly. He pushed his hands into his pockets, tightening his trousers across his groin even further, leaving little to the imagination and for some reason she thought again of Tristan, and how she couldn't quite imagine the two of them, he and Brendan, together...<br>"Sex isn't careful. If it is you're doing it wrong. It's messy and it's human..."  
>He said with the monotony of an actor who has played out the same role one too many times.<br>"Justin will need to be tested too."  
>She said. He screwed up his nose and shook his head.<br>"The night the explosion went off at the club? I was having my dick sucked by that little twink that infected Tristan."  
>He said with a shrug.<br>"I haven't fucked Justin since then...what with him being in hospital and all...I'm pretty sure that's frowned upon, right...Doc?"  
>He asked, a smile curling his lips, his head lolled to one side. And then she saw it, what all of the men that he had 'had' must see...what Tristan must have seen, the strength in his jaw, the glitter of something dangerous behind his eyes and the promise of what was to come in his pose. She glanced again at his hands pushed into his pockets and felt herself flush.<br>"So. Can you test me?"  
>He asked, breaking her train of thought.<br>She let her arms fall from her waist to her sides, her hands clapping against her hips gently.  
>"I can..."<br>She murmured, moving over to the cabinet under the sink to fetch a vial and a needle.  
>"Does Justin know?"<br>She asked, fishing for the needle packet.  
>"We're not exclusive. We can fuck who we want, as long as it's not more than once..."<br>He said, watching as she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and unpackaged the needle and syringe.  
>"Roll up your sleeve."<br>She said simply, standing before him, needle in hand.  
>He eyed it, rolling up his left sleeve to his elbow. She moved in, placing a hand on his arm to steady him, and as she pushed his sleeve up just a little bit further to tap against a vein she caught sight of something familiar, the tail of a tattoo that she recognised. She paused, looking down at it on his arm. He followed her gaze.<br>"You know I broke his heart...just like you...?"  
>He whispered, catching her eye. She pursed her lips but said nothing, just looked back down, eyes upon the tail end of the tattoo as she pricked his skin, sucking out a vile of hot red blood.<br>"So...how many days do I have to wait until I can jump in the hospital bed with Justin then?"  
>He asked, a new lightness entering his voice as he watched her label the blood and slip It into a plastic pouch.<br>"I can't believe you're thinking about sex at a time like this."  
>She whispered, dropping the vile into her 'out' tray.<br>"At a time like this it's exactly when you should be thinking about it."  
>He said quietly.<br>**More soon! xxx**


	47. Chapter 47

**She left the office with the weight of the world so heavy on her shoulders that she found she struggled not to physically stoop from the pull of it.**

**She rubbed a hand at her throbbing head. Everything seemed to mean so much though she seemed to have no idea what it meant to her. She found herself visualising Tristan and Brendan's matching tattoos, and her thoughts chased their tails within her mind, over and over she wondered about them, and wondered about their life together. Brendan had broken his head just like she had done. **

**She winced at the thought of it and turned a corner into a side corridor. There were fewer people here. She let her body rest against a wall in a queue behind three female patients, and pretended to count her change as she stood next to the coffee machine. Instead she thumbed the round silver coins and allowed her thoughts to tumble over one another to the chink of the metal within her hands.**

**There was the squeak of a rubber soled shoe from somewhere behind her, the soft padding of feet and then they stopped, and she knew by the breath that whispered against her ear that if she turned she would be disappointed. She sucked in a breath as he spoke.**

**"**The hunter spots his prey. But there is a problem. The herd of tottie is sticking together, making it hard to target any one individual..."

Max whispered, his cigarette laced breath making her head throb all the more and she felt his chest press against her back as the three woman moved away, coffee in hand.

"He's in luck. The herd has split, leaving one creature alone…"

"Max..."

She murmured, turning so that her back pushed up against the wall. He stood before her, smiling, his teeth showing white between his lips and for some reason she thought of Tristan's smile, and how his habit of sticking his tongue out as he did so, just ever so slightly...

"She's vulnerable. This surely, is his best chance."

He whispered, leaning against her. She placed a hand against his chest and pushed him back.

"Max..."

She warned, louder this time.

"**The hunter will tolerate no interruption to his meticulous preparations. He waits, like a coiled spring, and then…he strikes..."**

**He leant in to kiss her but she pushed against him, harder this time, knocking the breath from him and stumbled back against the opposite wall. **

**"Not quite what I had in mind."**

**He frowned as he spoke, watching as Connie adjusted herself, smoothing down her dress.**

**"What was that about?"**

**He asked, folding his arms across his chest.**

**"Not here."**

**She said quietly, moving away from him back down the corridor without so much as glancing back at him.**

**"What do you mean not here?"**

**He asked, jogging slightly to keep up with her.**

**"My office."**

**She said simply and she heard him exhale.**

**"Great! Is this where you say that last night was a mistake, it meant nothing aaaand you never want to see me again?"**

**He asked, breathless from keeping up with her. She stopped abruptly and turned on her heel so that he had to raise himself up on the toes of his shoes to stop himself from walking into her.**

**She looked at him standing before her, his hair swept across his eyes, his lips twitching with concern and she inwardly cursed herself for finding him so physically attractive.**

**"Yes."**

**She said, her voice low.**

**He drew his lips into a thin line, a half smile but his eyes remained dead and he clasped his hands in front of himself.**

**"Right..."**

**He said and paused, cocking his head to one side and narrowing his eyes.**

**"You know you're a bitch, right?"**

**He asked with a humourless laugh.**

**"Yeah...of course you do..."**

**He clapped his hands together once and widened his eyes as he exhaled.**

**"Max..."**

**She whispered.**

**"No, no...it's absolutely fine...well, it's not, you've treated me like absolute fucking shit, but what can I do!"**

**He laughed again and his voice began to grow louder. She stepped back toward the door to her office.**

**"Max, I..."**

"You know…"

He began again, interrupting her and following her over to her door, standing close to her, his arms pulled tightly about his chest.

"My entire life, people have said that…I would wind up alone, if I didn't learn how to feel...how to commit myself to just one person instead of a string of meaningless one night stands...which, is ironic because it turns out that was all I was to you!"

She raised a hand to shush him but he pushed her fingers away, letting his hand linger against hers as he spoke.

"But I want know, Mrs B, what the fuck is so great about feeling?" Because I finally let myself. And I feel like my heart's been completely ripped out."

He shrugged as though expecting her to answer. She inhaled slowly, avoiding eye contact with the passer bys.

"I'm sorry." 

**She whispered eventually.**

"I had this insane idea that you and I could be together. Because it felt real."

With a start she realised that he was near tears as he spoke, and she felt a twinge of guilt begin to bubble deep within her stomach.

"It was a delusion."

She said quietly.

He smirked and regarded her with such cold blue eyes that she had to look away.

"Then I'm delusional. Because I swear you felt the same way about me."

"What if I did? What if I had? What difference would it make? What if, in the time we spent together, I felt more alive than I have in the last 20 years of my life? What if that were true? Do you think that I would risk my reputation to run to some..rank little love nest, with a 30- something-year-old…porter…?"

She whispered. And he shook his head, again that belittling smile at his lips.

"You could..."

He began but she rolled her eyes.

"In my world, that kind of love does not exist. It's not an option."

She whispered.

"It's Tristan isn't it..."

He said, the mere mention of his name made her feel as though she would choke.

She paused and looked down at her hands.

"There's been something missing for me. Something that is hard to define I've been desperately just trying to create this thing and looking for it but I've been flaying and I realize now that you and I we're never going to find it."

She whispered, the vision of her fingers before her eyes pixelating as once again she felt the prick of tears at her eyes and she wondered for a fleeting moment had she ever cried as much as she had in these past few weeks?

He shifted where he stood and the bottom of his shoe squeaked again on the tile flooring.

"Do you know what you're looking for?"

He asked eventually. His voice quieter now. She glanced up at him, his face was pale and beautiful as it had been the first time she'd seen him when he had broken her window.

"No. No...not in the big picture sense that you mean."

She sighed with a flinch of her shoulders. He bit at the skin of his bottom lip, seeming to ponder his response for a moment before replying.

"Then how do you know that I can't give it to you?"

He asked.

**More tomorrow, more blood shed and more Tristan... xxx**


	48. Chapter 48

**She looked at him, exhaling slowly through slightly parted lips. **

**"I know."**

**She whispered. His brow furrowed.**

**"I know that you can't give me what I want..."**

**"I bet I can guess who can."**

**He spoke quietly as he interrupted, and let his gaze fall down to his feet before glancing back up at her, his face still lowered.**

**"I'm right, aren't I?"**

**He asked. She pursed her lips and gave a vague nod of her head.**

**He raised his hands and let them fall back to his sides with the soft slap of denim. Defeated.**

**"I'm not going to give up on you..."**

**He murmured, looking again to his feet, blinking against the sting at the corners of his eyes. She nodded again, distracted by the guilt that continued to bubble and rise within her.**

**"I think, that maybe you should."**

**She whispered and she saw the hint of a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth before he looked up at her again, his blue eyes darker than before.**

**"I can give you what he can't."**

**He said quietly. She swallowed and felt the lurch of her throat catch painfully.**

**"I know that. I know."**

**She paused, all to aware that they were still standing in the corridor in full view of whomever may pass.**

**"But I love him. And just because he doesn't want me, I can't ask you to wait for me, just in case I change my mind."**

**Her mind fogged and she struggled to place the words in the correct order. She pushed her fingers against the bridge of her nose and inhaled slowly, steadying herself.**

**"So this is it then is it? It's over before it really began?"**

**He asked, a rueful smile still ever so faintly curling his lips.**

**"I'm sorry..."**

**She whispered. He held up a hand, lightly touching a finger to her lips, silencing her.**

**"Just tell me one thing."**

**He said, his finger still against her mouth.**

**"Just tell me that you don't feel anything for me. And that last night ****_was _****just a one off...a mistake."**

**He narrowed his eyes and she swallowed again against the knot within her throat that ached at the back of her mouth and made her tonsils hurt.**

**She tightened the line of her lips, remaining silent, and his hand dropped from her mouth back down to his side.**

**"I will fight for you, you know."**

**He said, pushing his hands into his pockets.**

**"I can wait."**

**He added, even quieter now as he heard the tell tale shuffle of Tess's footsteps in the distance.**

**Connie cleared her throat, blinking against the blur of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, she lowered her gaze, looking intently at the line at the foot of her door where the tiles met the metal line of the door frame. She heard Tess's footsteps slow as she reached them, she heard Max murmur something and her footsteps gained pace again as she moved past them. Connie looked back up, the whites of her eyes flecked with red and beneath them lay the shadows of exhaustion.**

**"You look tired."**

**He said, making to reach out to her but catching himself, holding his arm steady at his side as though it pained him to do so.**

**She almost smiled.**

**"I'm fine."**

**She said. Her head still throbbed and even the slightest movement seemed to create such a tidal surge of pain through to the front of her head that she felt herself close her eyes for a moment just to quell the pain.**

**"Go and have a rest."**

**He urged, nodding his head toward her office door. She laughed.**

**"A rest?!"**

**She ran a hand through her hair, her forehead prickled with a cold sweat and her skin felt damp to the touch.**

**"I've got too much to do...besides. I am fine."**

**She insisted, feeling an odd sort of numbness begin to vibrate at her lips as she spoke, and whatever he was saying in response she seemed unable hear, the world about her sounded distant and far away as if she were submerged under water, and her eyes, though she tried to focus on him seemed only to see in patches. She felt cold, a rising mist of black crept up from the bottom of her line of sight and a wave of nausea wretched at her throat. She reached out to him, her fingers grabbing at the air before him and the last thing she saw as her knees gave way and her body crumpled to the floor was the blurred shape of his body stumble to catch her before the sharp crack of her head that split against the cold tiles.**

****More soon...I hope everyone is still enjoying the story? xxx****


	49. Chapter 49

A green orb-like light bloomed and multiplied, blossoming into a deep throbbing red behind her eyelids and the whooshing beat of blood within her ears thumped in time to the heart monitors that bleeped and winked with neon light beside her.

Her body felt numb, and as she swivelled her eyes behind her closed lids her head began to splinter with a white hot pain and the back of her throat bubbled with nausea. She parted her lips, breathing in the cool air of the room slowly and gradually, slowly opening her eyes, squinting up into the lights above her. Her body began to feel hot and her eyes seemed unable to move in time to the objects that swam about before her.

A hand reached out for her, she felt fingers against her own and she screwed her eyes even tighter, trying in vain to move her head to see whomever it was but instead her remained still, too heavy to move.

"Max..."

She whispered, letting her eyes fall closed again. She felt the touch at her hand retract and her fingers felt instead the cold air.

"Guess again."

A voice whispered, breaking as he spoke. She felt her stomach wince and her heart flutter and she struggled yet again to open her eyes. She heard the creak and scrape of chair legs on the floor, and the sound of his shoes as he neared the bed, and all of a sudden she saw him, his outline a hazy mist as though an angel stood behind him blazing out a halo of light.

She swallowed and raised a hand to touch her lips, they were dry and when she spoke she felt them tighten as if they might split.

"Hey..."

He reached out and adjusted the tube that had been attached to the back of her hand, moving it over the side bar of the bed so that she could move her arm more freely.

"I don't...why..."

She lay her hand across her eyes, the strip light above her making her feel light headed.

"How did you...?"

She tried again, hearing him move again, listening to the rhythmic sound of him as he walked to the door and flicked off the light so that the room now lay more peacefully in the semi-dark. Only the few monitors and various lights dotted about the room. She opened her eyes wider this time, the room seemed to spin more gently now and the whisper of her heartbeat in her ears began to lessen.

**"I got a call telling me my nephew was in the hospital..."**

**Tristan said, padding back to her bedside where he stood, a dark shadow against the half-light. **

**"...which was surprising since I don't have a nephew."**

**He added and she could hear the lilt of his accent and knew that he must be smiling.**

**"What...?"**

**She whispered, licking her lips again, her mind too foggy to understand.**

**"Max called and left a message. At least I suppose it was him, he didn't leave his name. I assumed he thought I might not come if he'd said it was you..."**

**He explained. She frowned again, struggling to listen, to pay attention when her head throbbed so painfully.**

**"How do you feel?"**

**He asked.**

**She let her eyes closed again and shook her head in response.**

**"What happened?"**

**She asked eventually, her voice breathless and weak.**

**He reached behind himself and pulled the chair closer to the bed, sitting himself down at her bedside, his arms resting on the metal of the bed guard so that he could lean closer to her to see her in the dim light. She blinked, he seemed almost dream like, his lips were parted, she could see the edges of his teeth, and the whites of his eyes glittered, showing the reflection of the heart monitor within them, his face illuminated a pale green from the light of it.**

**"You passed out."**

**He said, interlocking his fingers and pushing the tips of his thumbs together, leaning closer so that his lips pressed against his hands and he looked at her, his eyes wide, searching her face.**

**"And you gave yourself a fucking big crack to the head."**

**He added, his voice almost a whisper. She frowned, and felt the scratch of something against her forehead. She raised her hand slowly and touched her fingers to her head, feeling the soft gauze fabric just above her right eyebrow.**

**"What happened?"**

**He asked, watching her as she felt the damp patch of blood that was beginning to seep through the fabric. She lowered her hand back down and looked at the smear of blood on her fingertips with one eye, the other squinted closed against a sharp stab of pain that shot through behind her eye socket.**

**"I don't remember."**

**She whispered, dropping her hand and looking up at him. She bit her lip, her forehead creased and she felt hot wet tears prick the corners of her eyes and her body trembled with the sudden gush of emotion. **

**Without seeming to pause for thought he leant from his chair, pulling himself so that he could lean over the bed guard properly. One hand rested at the top of her head, gently stroking the hair from her forehead, being careful not to upset her dressing. The other hand he tailed across her cheek, smudging away the tears that skittered across her cheeks and dribbled down her neck into the hollow of her shoulders. **

**"Don't cry.."**

**He shushed her as though she were an infant, his face close to hers, his lips against her hair, 'sh, sh-ing' her so gently. She closed her eyes, just allowing herself to cry, to tired, too worn out to care. **

**She could smell him close to her, the warm smell of his skin and the peppermint that made her smile.**

**"I'm sorry."**

**She whispered, her breath catching in her chest.**

**"What for?"**

**He asked, his breath fluttering her hair and making her shiver against him.**

**"For my behaviour."**

**She breathed, trying to steady herself.**

**"For Max..."**

**She added quietly. **

**"I was flailing..."**

**He touched his fingers against her lips. **

**"I'm sorry too."**

**He whispered, brushing her lips, her jaw, pushing his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, cupping her head and looking down at her with eyes so kind she felt she might start crying all over again.**

**"What have you got to be sorry about?"**

**She asked quietly, her chin trembling uncontrollably.**

**"Oh...for losing you?"**

**He shrugged.**

**"For pushing you away..."**

**He added. She exhaled with something resembling relief.**

**"Ah. Well..."**

**She cleared her throat.**

**"The thing is, some things are lost forever, and others and just misplaced for a bit."**

**She whispered, her breath catching in her chest and she coughed, the pain of it making her feel nauseas again. **

**He ran his fingers over the top of her head, just gently across her hair.**

**"So, are you lost or misplaced?"**

**He asked, watching his own fingers push through the dark brown curls that had knotted at the back of her head.**

**She sighed heavily.**

**"Too early to tell. But I think I'm probably just misplaced."**

**She murmured, feeling nothing but the soft repetitive stroke of his fingers against her scalp.**

****More soon. Hopefully that's not too much of a cliff hanger for those of you who arent keen on them! :) xxx****


	50. Chapter 50

**The doors opened and Zoe entered, followed by Ash and Charlie, all three of whom made their way over to the bed, Zoe glancing up at the lights above the bed.**  
><strong>"Have the bulbs gone?"<strong>  
><strong>She asked, squinting to see Connie in the dim light.<strong>  
><strong>"The light was hurting her eyes."<strong>  
><strong>Tristan answered, leaning back away from the bed, allowing Charlie to squeeze in next to him where he lifted the paper from the monitor, using the light from the screen to shine on it so that he could see it.<strong>  
><strong>"Sorry...about all of this..."<strong>  
><strong>Connie murmured, trying to shift herself but as she tried to move, pushing the heels of her hands down into the soft mattress the room gave a violent lurch and she saw the clock on the far side of the room turn a full circle, the numbers blurring out of sight and she heard herself moan, felt the grip of someone at her shoulders, lowering her back down against the cushion, a hand at her head. She closed her eyes and swallowed repeatedly against the bile that rose at the back of her throat.<strong>  
><strong>"Connie, it's really important that you stay still."<strong>  
><strong>Zoe placed a hand on Connie's forearm, her fingers were warm and soft and she squeezed her arm ever so gently.<strong>  
><strong>Ash flicked through the notes that he held, leaning closer to Charlie and the light from the heart monitor to read them.<strong>  
><strong>"Your blood sugar levels are low."<strong>  
><strong>He said out loud as he read the paper.<strong>  
><strong>"CT was clear."<strong>  
><strong>He struggled to turn a page.<strong>  
><strong>"There was no damage to the skull, just a laceration to the forehead."<strong>  
><strong>He murmured, placing the notes on top of the monitor as Charlie leaned over her, peeling back the tape that held the gauze against her head. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. Tristan slipped a hand through the bed guard, finding his fingers with her own and cradled them in his palm, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her knuckles and up and down the back of her hand.<strong>  
><strong>"Connie, can you look at me?"<strong>  
><strong>Zoe asked, squeezing her arm again. Connie opened her eyes ever so slightly, all to aware of how close Charlie was as he dabbed at the blood that had seeped through her stitches.<strong>  
><strong>"Have you eaten anything today?"<strong>  
><strong>She asked, a frown creasing her forehead. Connie made to shake her head but thought better of it.<strong>  
><strong>"Not yet..."<strong>  
><strong>She whispered, closing her eyes again, even the dim light made them ache and the room still swung as if dangled on a string before her.<strong>  
><strong>"Ok..."<strong>  
><strong>Zoe stepped back to look at something on one of the monitors but as she did so the shrill ring of a mobile phone pierced the quiet. Tristan jumped and Charlie glanced to him, looking down at him.<strong>  
><strong>"Dr Cutler, your shoe appears to be ringing."<strong>  
><strong>He said quietly, watching as Tristan pushed his hand into the side of his boot, retrieving his phone.<strong>  
><strong>"Sorry...I'll just..."<strong>  
><strong>He gestured with the illuminated phone and made a half-run to the door, stepping outside just as the ringing stopped.<strong>  
><strong>Connie peered in the direction of the door, trying to keep her eyes open, straining to see through the glass windows to where Tristan was re-dialling.<strong>  
><strong>"He's keen."<strong>  
><strong>Murmured Zoe, tearing off a sheet from the monitor and pushing it into Connie's file.<strong>  
><strong>"Max has been asking after you."<strong>  
><strong>She added, with a pause that told Connie more than she realised. She closed her eyes again and remained mute as Charlie finished off cleaning the wound and re-dressed it with a thicker layer of gauze this time.<strong>  
><strong>"I'll have the canteen send you something up."<strong>  
><strong>Ash said as he manoeuvred his way passed Charlie. Connie screwed up her nose.<strong>  
><strong>"I'd rather you didn't..."<strong>  
><strong>She said, attempting authority but finding her voice weak.<strong>  
><strong>"Connie, you have to eat!"<strong>  
><strong>Zoe took hold of her arm again and lowered herself down so that she could look Connie directly in the face.<strong>  
><strong>"You <strong>**_have _****to eat something or this will happen again. Ok?"**  
><strong>She spoke quietly and her dark eyes were wide. Connie let her eyes roll to the back of her head, defeated.<strong>  
><strong>"Ok?"<strong>  
><strong>Ash looked to Zoe who nodded, sending him on his way down to the canteen.<strong>  
><strong>"We'll come back later to check on you."<strong>  
><strong>Charlie said, setting the monitor back up and moving to the door, holding it open for Zoe who tucked Connie's notes under one arm and moved quickly to the door, her heels clacking sharply on the tiles.<strong>  
><strong>"What shall I tell Max?"<strong>  
><strong>She asked, pausing in the door way, her figure illuminated by the corridor beyond.<strong>  
><strong>Connie inhaled slowly.<strong>  
><strong>"I'll see him later."<strong>  
><strong>She breathed, sighing heavily, the intake of breath making her dizzy.<strong>  
><strong>Zoe gave a nod of her head, her lips pursed and she let the door swing shut behind her, it clapped hard against the other and was swiftly pushed once again before it could shuffle itself back into position. <strong>  
><strong>Tristan slipped back into the room, pushing his phone into his pocket.<strong>  
><strong>"Who was that?"<strong>  
><strong>She asked, her throat dry.<strong>  
><strong>"Your nanny."<strong>  
><strong>He said, stifling a yawn. She frowned, watching him yawn and feeling the tightness of her throat as she too began to yawn.<strong>  
><strong>"I called her when I got here. Just in case..."<strong>  
><strong>He paused and shifted where he stood.<strong>  
><strong>"I told Grace you're ok."<strong>  
><strong>He said quietly. She felt a sudden, intense rush of affection for him, and she held out a hand to him, wanting nothing more than just to touch him, to thank him.<strong>  
><strong>"Thank you."<strong>  
><strong>She whispered as he took her hand, moving to stand by the bed once more.<strong>  
><strong>He cleared his throat and she caught the tell tale twitch of a nervous smile.<strong>  
><strong>"So..."<strong> **He began, glancing down at their hands.**  
><strong>"I just wanted you to know...that I <strong>**_was _****to mislay anything that was ****_extremely important _****to me, then I would probably rush down to the lost property office as soon as possible."**  
><strong>The smile broke through as he spoke and she found herself desperately wanting to pull him closer.<strong>  
><strong>Her lips tugged, fighting against her own smile and she looked up at him, her eyes struggling to focus.<strong>  
><strong>"Even if it was shut?"<strong>  
><strong>She asked, feigning ignorance. <strong>  
><strong>He laughed quietly and used his foot to pull the chair that he had been sitting in close to the head of the bed so that he could sit down.<strong>  
><strong>"<strong>**Even if it was shut, even if it in was the middle of the bloody night, I would go down there and bang on the doors."**

**He said resting an elbow on the bed guard and supporting his chin with the palm of his hand.**

**"Well...that's just silly."**

**She whispered, reaching out to him, just letting her fingers touch against his arm, his hand, his cheek, feeling the prick of hard stubble at his jaw.**

**"There wouldn't be anybody there, they'd be at home in their bed. Surely if you really wanted to find whatever it was that was ****_so _****important to you, then you would find out where they lived and go and knock on their doors there?"**

**She murmured. She could feel the heady rush of the painkillers that they had administered her, but carried on despite the giddiness that she felt, letting her fingers graze his lips where they paused at the briefest flutter of a kiss.**

**"Ok, I'll do that then."**

**He murmured against her fingers, grasping them with his own and pressing them more firmly against his mouth.**

**"I'd have to call the police on you..."**

**She whispered, feeling the gentle sway of the drugs dribbling delightfully through her veins. He smiled and kissed the palm of her hand.**

**"Would you?"**

**He whispered, his breath tickling her skin and they smiled in unison as she nodded ever so gently before a soft frown creased her forehead and she looked momentarily lost.**

**"Actually, I'm confused..."**

**She sighed, unsure as to whether her eyes were open or closed.**

**"Am I still the lost property or do I run the lost property office?"**

**She asked, her voice a lilt away from a song and she felt her head swim with the temptation of sleep.**

**"I'll get back to you on that."**

**He breathed, reaching out a hand and stroking the sweat slicked curls from her face, tucking them neatly behind her ear whilst holding her other hand, feeling it go limp within his own as she drifted off to sleep.**

**"Sweet dreams."**

**He whispered.**

****More very soon x Hope everyone is having a lovely evening! xxx****


	51. Chapter 51

**Connie awoke the next morning to the sound of the ward beyond the closed door of the little side room that she had been allocated. **  
><strong>She could hear the buzz of the door, the incessant bleeping of the phone and the sharp squeak of rubber soled shoes on the cold tiled floors.<strong>  
><strong>She opened her eyes tentatively, expecting the wave and rush of pain which never came. Instead she found herself able to look about the room, the light pleating in through the closed slatted blind only making her eyes ache the tiniest bit.<strong>  
><strong>She raised a hand to her head, feeling the bandage and raising her eyebrow, still no pain, though she could feel the faint wooziness of the painkillers still within her system.<strong>  
><strong>A tap at the door caught her attention, and Tess opened the door, slipping inside, smiling as she noticed Connie was awake.<strong>  
><strong>"I bought you some lunch."<strong>  
><strong>She said, gesturing to the tray that she held.<strong>  
><strong>"Lunch?"<strong>  
><strong>Connie asked, squinting at the clock above the door but her eyes failed to focus.<strong>  
><strong>"It's 1:00."<strong>  
><strong>Tess said, catching her gaze toward the clock.<strong>  
><strong>"You obviously needed the rest."<strong>  
><strong>She added quietly as she began arranging the tray onto the pull out table that she wheeled and secured above Connie's lap.<strong>  
><strong>"What is it?"<strong>  
><strong>Connie asked, attempting to hoist herself up into a sitting position. Tess rushed to help her, arranging the pillow behind her back despite Connie's insisting that she was fine.<strong>  
><strong>"Shepherds pie."<strong>  
><strong>Tess said, glancing at the tray that she had placed in front of her.<strong>  
><strong>"I think."<strong>  
><strong>She added, looking at the grey matter that was placed in the middle of the white plastic plate.<strong>  
><strong>Connie raised an eyebrow at her.<strong>  
><strong>"You've got to eat!"<strong>  
><strong>Tess said firmly, nodding down at the food. <strong>  
><strong>"I'll come back and make sure you're ok in an hours time."<strong>  
><strong>She added, double checking that the table was secured before moving to the door.<strong>  
><strong>"To check that I've eaten it, you mean."<strong>  
><strong>Connie murmured, reaching out for the knife and fork that lay next to the plate, rolled inside a frail white napkin.<strong>  
><strong>Tess pursed her lips against a smile.<strong>  
><strong>"I'll be back soon."<strong>  
><strong>She said with a nod of her head and exited, closing the door with a soft click behind her.<strong>  
><strong>Connie looked down at the plate of food as she unwrapped the cutlery, the knife falling into her lap. <strong>  
><strong>She picked up the fork and poked at the food with it's blunt metal prongs. She hadn't eaten mashed potato since she was at school, but she was pretty sure that it shouldn't be that solid. And the gravy looked like coloured yellow water that pooled about the shrivelled grey meat.<strong>  
><strong>She sighed and pushed a less suspicious looking pea onto the fork, raising it and peering at it as the door opened again and Tristan poked his head in.<strong>  
><strong>"I wouldn't if I were you."<strong>  
><strong>He whispered, leaning against the door frame, holding the door open with the toe of his shoe.<strong>  
><strong>She smiled and lowered the fork back down to the plate with a soft clatter.<strong>  
><strong>"I'm not."<strong>  
><strong>She said, watching him as he propelled his body into the room, the door swinging closed behind him. He held out a plastic carrier bag.<strong>  
><strong>"What's that?"<strong>  
><strong>She asked as he made his way over to her and placed the carrier bag on the small bedside table.<strong>  
><strong>"A picnic."<strong>  
><strong>He said matter of factly, taking the tray of shepherds pie and carrying it into the small bathroom attached to her cubicle. She heard the scrape of cutlery against plastic and then the flush of the toilet before he reappeared again, placing the now empty tray down onto the chair next to the door.<strong>  
><strong>"I want you better. Not worse."<strong>  
><strong>He said, moving back over to her. She looked up at him, he looked tired, there were dark circles beneath his eyes and he hadn't shaved.<strong>  
><strong>"So..."<strong>  
><strong>He picked up the carrier bag again and peered down into it.<strong>  
><strong>"I've got smoked salmon...bread rolls, which by the way I made this morning, grapes... you're supposed to have grapes in hospital..."<strong>  
><strong>"I love you."<strong>  
><strong>She whispered, her words nearly unheard over the rustle of the plastic bag.<strong>  
><strong>"Sorry?"<strong>  
><strong>He asked, pausing, a paper bag full of warm bread rolls in one hand.<strong>  
><strong>"I love you."<strong>  
><strong>She said again, feeling her cheeks flush as he looked down at her, his eyes wide, his lips parted.<strong>

****More soon! By the way, I apologise for the sudden strange formatting of my updates. I've noticed that parts keep appearing in bold etc despite them not being in bold when I actually write them up in Word. Not sure what's going on there, but I thought I had better mention that I'm not trying to emphasise certain parts or anything, it's just my laptop having a funny turn! xxx****


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